


Part One

by Colelockian



Series: Visions [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blood and Gore, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 33,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colelockian/pseuds/Colelockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, recently invalid, has dreams about the future but never about strangers until one night he does. Now he must find out who this man is and how to save his life before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Visions in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this story for several months and didn't want to post it until I had all the chapter completed. Now they are all finished and it's time to reveal what I've come up with.

_Everything is blurred, colors are distorted, and sounds are muffled. A tall man in a black, wool coat is the only thing in focus. His sharp angled face is elegant and shadowed dramatically. His slim frame is gangly, nearly in the unhealthy range, but he doesn’t seem affected by his state._

_The man almost seems unnatural, inhuman. He’s so pale he nearly glows in the dim lighting.  His dark curls contrast his pale skin and his blue eyes are hard and calculating, staring down the barrel of a gun._

John Watson is thrown from his dream with such force he’s sitting straight up and breathing heavily. His tiny space comes into focus and he almost wishes for the dream to return so he can escape the dreary dump that he inhabits.

John sighs and wishes for the billionth time that he didn’t have visions of the future but normal dreams like everyone else. He hated the blood and gore that usually came with his visions. Even as a child John understood his dreams to be real but no one ever believed him. His visions can’t even help him, hence why he now has a rather large scar on his shoulder. John can’t see his own future just other people and only people he’s been around for a while.

John rubs at the phantom pain in his shoulder as he surveys the room. Even after so many month away from the war zone old habits of a soldier still linger in his aging bones. He had spent four tours in Afghanistan working as a doctor and commanding men as a captain. John thought he would die in battle even fantasized returning home in a pine box but that didn’t come to pass.

A well placed round found its way into his shoulder, it wasn’t lethal, but it was a disability. John now had a permanent reminder of what he lost and a gimp leg that ached profusely giving him a prominent limp which in turn made he use a cane.

Tonight is the first John’s ever had of a complete stranger.

Since coming home to London John hadn't dreamt, there is no one for him to dream about since he is alone. John doesn't mind being alone but having someone would have made coming home a lot easier and the transition smoother. John feels useless and it doesn’t help when he goes to his weekly therapy sessions, his therapist doesn’t seem to understand that nothing she says helps.

The veteran's bedsit that he claimed could be a closet with only a bathroom aside from the bedroom. It can’t even be called a proper flat since it lacked a kitchen area. John wishes he can say it’s not the worse place he’s been but even the burning heat from the Afghan sun is a better place.

Groaning John runs a hand over face and flips around to bury his head in his pillow. With the darkness pushing his senses John thinks back on the dream; the tall man looked to be in his mid-thirties and he is unique. His face is sharp angles and cheekbones with the strangest blue eyes John had ever seen. They held the cosmos in their irises with all the dancing colors not found on this Earth.

Those eyes are seared into John's mind with that look he held whilst staring at the gun pointed at him. His eyes don't show fear or realization, in fact they seem annoyed or irritated. Definitely not the reaction one should have with something that dangerous so close.

John rolls over to stare at his ceiling, barely able to make out the dark water stains and yellowing wall paper but he's not focused on that, he's caught up in thinking how he could even begin to find this man and save him.


	2. Reunion of Sorts & A New Job

John dreams of the man every night for a week, it always starts and ends the same. No amount of research helps him because he's not sure where the man is from, though John can probably assume the man is in London.

The stress over the whole thing is causing John's limp to act up more prominently which in turn is making it even harder for him to get a job. Employers take one look, see the limp, and can't get him out of their offices fast enough with a rejection.

He's surprised when he gets a call in for an interview at St. Bartholomew's since it is a training hospital and John isn't remotely a teacher but a job’s a job.

The hospital hasn't changed since John left. It's gleaming, hygienic tiled floors and nearly blinding white walls always gave him the sense of a prison instead of a hospital. The air is thick with the scent of chemicals and sterile surfaces. It feels crowded, almost suffocating. John always feels on edge in hospitals even as a doctor.

"John? John Watson?" A voice calls pulling John from his nostalgia.

Looking at the man coming towards him John is hit with familiarity but can't quite place it.

John must have shown his confusion on his face because the man smiles. "Mike, Mike Stamford." The man reminds him.

Mike Stamford, they had been friends before John had joined the army. "Mike,” John greets shaking the man's hand, "it's been awhile."

The man laughs, "I know I got fat."

Mike had gained weight since the last time John had seen him but Mike still looked the same with his glasses and brown hair perfectly parted down the middle.  "So how you been?" John asks hating small talk but he didn't want to seem rude. Even with his visions, John had been somewhat of a people person and made friends easily but since coming back he’d found most domestic things unbearable.

Mike shrugs. "Wife, kids, teaching the young hopefuls here but what about you? Last I heard you were off getting shot at." He asks sounding exhilarated.

John grimaces, "well I got shot." He rubs at his shoulder absent-mindedly.

Mike loses his smile and clears his throat. "So how's Harry?" He tries.

"Split with Clara now she on a binge god knows where." John replies loathing this conversation more and more the longer it went on. His sister had always been a sore topic for the doctor and most people knew to avoid it.

Mike is looking really uncomfortable. "Are you in staying in town until you get yourself sorted?"

John snorts. "Can't afford London on an army pension." He answers thinking of something that will politely end the torture.

 “But you can’t imagine being anywhere else,” Mike jokes, "How about a flat share?"

"Who'd want me for a flat mate?" John chuckles and hears a knowing laugh from the other man, "What?"

Mike gives him a curious look with a wide smile. "You're the second person to say that to me today."

John blinks about to question him further when a nurse calls his name. He quickly hands Mike a card with his phone number on it before hurrying after the woman.

When the interview is done John isn't surprised when they tell him that his lack of teaching experience will make it impossible to fill the position but they do suggest he look at a nearby clinic that needed experienced surgeons.

Mildly interested John decides it wouldn't hurt to see what the clinic had to offer.

It's a small place for low income patients. The woman at the front desk introduces herself as Sarah Sawyer and is almost thrilled when John asks if they're hiring.

"We're in desperate need of some extra hands so just give me a resume and I'll call you later today." She tells him.

With one less resume in hand John leaves and reluctantly heads to his bedsit. Before night fall Sarah indeed calls and offers him a position. He barely let her finish before accepting.

"That's fantastic! Would you mind coming in tomorrow for some introductory stuff?" She asks.

John agrees restraining his enthusiasm.

He goes to bed happy and feeling likes he's finally getting back to his old self with a new job, the future didn't look so bleak.

_Again he dreams of the man though this time his mouth is moving without words being spoken and there is no sign of the gun. The man looks frustrated and moves to stand, that's when the gun appears. The man glares looking disappointed at the one holding the weapon before settling back down._

John wakes staring at the ceiling and wishing once again he were a little more normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has a bit of some familiarity from a Study in Pink but with an obvious twist that didn't occur in the series.


	3. A Study in Pink; Abridged

John's first day at the clinic is a lot of paperwork and familiarizing himself with the clinic's procedures. He immerses himself in his new work and barely realizes the day is nearly over until Sarah drops by.

"John?" She calls from his office door, "you're still here?"

John pulls himself from the terribly boring paper in front of him with no idea what he had been reading. "What?"

Sarah laughs. "You've done quite enough today, you can go home." She teases him.

John wants to argue and make an excuse to keep going but reluctantly agrees. Sarah wishes him a good night before leaving. John watches her go thinking he might pick up dating again by asking Sarah out. As the door closes behind her John decides to put it on his list for future endeavors.

The air outside is cool suggesting spring but John knows tomorrow morning frost will coat everything. Bright spots of sunlight are making one last stand as the sun sinks down.

John has no desire to return to his shabby prison so begins walking the street enjoying the dying sunlight.

Even after night has completely encompassed the city John keeps walking. The sidewalks are alive with people as they move among the buildings. Clubs and pubs are bursting with activity. Pounding music vibrates the air on the streets making the entirety seem livelier, the low buzz of conversation whispers alongside it.

John doesn't drink, alcohol makes his visions worse. His mind opens up and everything screams at him.

He's so caught up in the life of London he comes to a part of the city he's unfamiliar with. The close knit buildings blur together and everything looks the same. Nearby he spots a cafe called Speedy's, it’s a simple shop with very few tables and patrons. Not seeing anything else he goes inside to ask for directions and grab a cup of tea.

Sitting alone drinking his tea John wishes he had someone, it didn't have to be a girlfriend but at least friend, someone John could at least talk to and have a laugh with. He had been alone for years but he had never felt lonely now in this busy city with nobody John feels lonely.

Tired of feeling sorry for himself John finishes his tea, gets his directions, and hurries from the cafe. Out on the sidewalk he nearly faints; the man from his dream is barely ten feet in front of him and ducking into a cab. He only catches a glimpse of the back of the man’s head but John knows those unruly curls anywhere.

When the taxi takes off John frantically signals for his own cab, luckily one stops a second later. Sliding inside John shouts at the driver; "follow that cab!"

The man driving raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'll pay you double." John tells him staring at the other cab moving steadily away from him.

The driver didn't need any more encouragement. They follow the other cab through the city and it seemed that the other vehicle doesn’t really have a destination in mind. It takes side streets and drives down the same roads a few times.

John can tell his driver is nearing the end of his patience as they fall further and further behind. When it almost seems like a ridiculous adventure the cab in front of them pulls off the road into a parking lot. John’s cab pulls up to the curb, the driver has barely slowed down before the doctor is tossing too many bills at him and racing from the car.

The twin buildings look to be a school as well as empty, there are very few lights on inside and John feels dismay, he hadn’t been able to see which building they had entered. Hoping he’s right John runs for the nearest building and throws himself inside.

John hurries through the halls drawing the gun he keeps on his person most of the time. The rooms on the bottom floor are all vacant and he can feel himself quickly losing hope. He can’t let the tall man die, he just couldn’t. After dreaming about him for days John feels a connection with the man and he will not let him die.

The first few rooms on the second floor causes John to start to panic, thinking that the other two men are in the other building and out of reach for John. Opening yet another door John groans into the empty room and moves towards the next room when something catches his eye.

Going into the room John is horrified to see that the men are indeed in the other building and the tall man has a gun aimed at him just like in John’s dream. He can only a side profile of both men but that all John needs to take a shot.

The ex-soldier brings his gun up focusing on the man with the gun. In the army John had been known for his precise shooting and feels that now it will truly be tested.

The kickback on the small handgun is familiar as is the deafening bang as the bullet is released from the barrel and speeds across the distance, burying itself in the man’s chest.

John barely watches the man fall, knowing he’ll be dead, before hurrying from the room. He doesn’t want the tall man to see him, doesn’t want him to know what he had done. John is just glad he saved his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to our boy for saving Sherlock, this couldn't be a story without that tall genius, though the doctor hasn't quiet figured out what exactly he's gotten himself into.


	4. Looking for a Flatshare?

The next few days John watches the news as they discuss the vigilante that saved an unnamed witness. The stories circle getting more and more ridiculous as time passes. It seemed the man he had killed had been a serial murderer, forcing people to take poison so John didn’t feel too badly about ending the man’s life.

John’s dreams end and his life goes back to the monotony of before with the added bonus of working well below his potential. The clinic got him out of the bedsit and gave his hands something to do but it quickly became repetitive.

His therapist said it is a good development and suggests John start a blog for his thoughts, he of course is reluctant. She tells him it would be good to write down what he does but he doesn’t do anything so sees it as pointless.

The thing that really changed his life is the day Mike Stamford calls.

It is nearly ten in the morning and John is bored by his day off, nearly tempted to call Sarah and pester her for a few hours. His cell phone ringing is a relief and he hopes it’s someone he knows, not a pesky bill collector with the wrong number.

“Hello?” John asks doing well to hide the eagerness in his voice.

“John, hey it’s Mike, Mike Stamford.”

John can’t be happier, not because it’s Mike, but because it’s Mike. “Mike I’m glad you called.” He says with a bit of excitement in his tone.

There’s a brief pause before the man begins speaking; “Are you still looking for a flat mate?”

“I was never looking for a flat mate in the first place but if you someone were looking for one I wouldn’t decline.” John tells him smiling to himself.

Mike chuckles, “Well I have a friend and I think you two would get on, so why don’t you come by the hospital later. He should be here by then.” He says.

John doesn’t relish the idea of living another person but it would get him out of the bedsit. “I can be there in an hour.” John didn’t want to wait too long to meet this potential flat mate.

“Good I’ll see you then.” Mike agrees as he hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John wasn't looking for a flatshare but a flatshare found him thanks to our own personal cupid Mike Stamford! *Audience Applauds* It's a fairly short chapter but don't worry there is much more to come.


	5. The Meeting of a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know who this is!

An hour later John shows up meeting up with Mike in the cafeteria. The man is waiting with a coffee in his hand.

“John, glad you could make it?” He greets handing John one of the coffees.

The drink is bitter and cheap but it calms John’s nerves. “I’m tired of being at the bedsit.” He tells the other man.

Mike smiles. “Well then let’s go upstairs.”

John wants to know more about the man he’s meeting but Mike only says; “You’ll see when you meet him.”

Mike enters the lab first followed closely by John. The room is like many John had been in during his training. “A bit different from my day.” He comments.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?”  A deep baritone asks drawing John’s attention.

All the breath leaves John’s lungs when his eyes land on the man from his visions. The man is looking at him with slight concern just before John’s vision turns white.

_He’s suddenly looking at a different scene; the man is standing in front of a window holding a violin, swaying slightly while he plays. The melody is dark with a lovely twist screaming that it is a classic, demanding to be played with skill._

It’s gone in an instant and John blinks as the faces of the man and Mike come into focus. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s on the floor and moves to get up. Mike places a hand on his shoulder.

“Whoa mate, take it easy. You blacked out there a moment.” He says.

“I’m fine, just help me up.” John mutters feeling his cheeks heat up. Mike doesn’t argue and they quickly get John into a chair.

Mike is hovering looking uncertain.

“Mike, really I’m fine. I just got a bit dizzy,” John assures looking at the other man, “John Watson.” He greets holding out a hand.

The other man scans John before taking the hand. “Sherlock Holmes.”

It is an interesting name, for an interesting man, and John feels like he might have felt a bit disappointed if the man had had a different name.

“So Mike tells me you’re looking for a flat mate?” John asks.

Sherlock puts his hands behind his back. “How do you feel about the violin?”

That makes John smiles knowing that his vision is showing him something he might get to experience. “I think I can manage.”

“I sometimes don’t talk for days and I experiment on human body parts.” Sherlock adds eyeing John.

“I’m a doctor and a soldier, besides small talk annoys me.” He says receiving a chuckle in response.

“Would you like to come by the flat?” Sherlock asks giving a smile John can tell it’s fake.

“Might as well.” The doctor answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John flirts so much he doesn't even realize he's doing it.


	6. The Only One in the World

They share a cab and it starts out silent. John silently contemplates what might come from this meeting but he didn’t want to get the wrong idea.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Comes the quiet question.

John turns his head and sees Sherlock looking at him. “Afghanistan, how did you know?” He nearly lets the thought that Sherlock might be like him be acknowledged but that would be a stretch that he won’t even consider.

Sherlock smirks with an air of smugness. “You said you were a soldier, we currently have soldiers stationed in those two countries. You also have a tan that doesn’t go below your wrists and neckline, so not on vacation.”

John blinks glancing at his wrists.

“You also have an older brother who recently separated from his wife and your therapist thinks your limp in psychosomatic, she's right." The man adds.

"Wait, how do you know about Harry?" John asks bewildered, “and who says I have a therapist?”

"You have a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist, and I borrowed this," Sherlock pulls John’s cell phone, "the engraving is to a Harry Watson so a relative but you don't have any close family members so a sibling. This is also a newer model at least six months old, a young man's device."

"Now engraving says 'love Clara', three x's tells me wife not girlfriend. A girlfriend wouldn't spend so much on something like this and on top of it all your brother left her, if she had kicked him out he would have held on to this. People are sentimental like that. They most likely separated due to his drinking, scratches on the charging port, a steady sober hand wouldn't make those marks." Sherlock finishes while setting the phone in John's lap.

John is staring, he knows he is but he's too stunned to pull his eyes away from the lunar eyes locked on to his. He should be mad that the man had taken his phone but he could barely work the damn thing so he didn’t even care.

Sherlock's eyes narrow and he begins to shift in his seat.

"That was...absolutely...amazing!" John says. He’s bewildered! He thought the man had been a mystery just from his dream but being face to face with him is better.

Sherlock blinks.

John smiles, slipping his phone in his pocket. "You got all that from looking at my phone, fantastic! Bloody brilliant."

Sherlock looks surprised. "You think?" His eyes are traveling over the doctor rapidly.

"Absolutely." John replies.

"That's not what people usually say." Sherlock says frowning slightly.

John raises an eyebrow. "What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

John can't help but chuckle and hears Sherlock join in a moment later.

"So how did you know that about me?" The doctor asks.

"I deduced it." Sherlock answers.

"Incredible." John says.

The other man eyes him a moment. "Did I get anything wrong?" He asks quietly.

John shrugs. "Harry is a drinker."

Sherlock smiles.

"Harry is short for Harriet." The shorter man adds.

Sherlock glares. "Sister, you have a sister. It's always something." He hisses.

John laughs clapping Sherlock on the arm. The moment his hand touches Sherlock's arm his vision whitens.

Sherlock is standing over a body muttering with another man watching and writing in a small notebook. The tall man kneels down and with gloved hands lifts stiff limbs, his eyes hard with concentration.

The other man doesn’t speak but writes everything that Sherlock is saying with brief glances at the corpse.

The scene fades and John is back in the cab. He can feel eyes on him, turning he finds Sherlock with the same hard look as the crime scene.

"Are you going to keep doing that?" He asks.

John blinks hard. "Huh?"

"You suddenly freeze and stare off. When you did it at the lab Mike nearly shouted himself hoarse when you didn't respond." The man explains.

"Sorry it just happens every now and then, I zone out." John lies weakly having no other way of explaining it.

Sherlock hums in response.

John clears his throat making a note to keep his limbs to himself for awhile. "So what do you do with this deducing power of yours?"

"It's not a power," Sherlock argues, "anyone could do it if they only stopped being so stupid."

John smiles in amusement. "Well genius how to you fully exercise your deductions?" He asks.

"I'm a consulting detective." Sherlock replies.

"Consulting detective? Never heard of it." John comments.

Sherlock smirks. "I invented the job, I'm the only one in the world. I help the police when they're out of their depth which is all the time." He explains.

John chuckles. "I can imagine that. Did you help with that serial murderer a few weeks back?" He asks knowing he's treading on rocky ground.

"I'm the one who solved it." Sherlock replies sounding bored and even pulls out his phone.

"Wait, were you the unnamed witness?" John asks with the right amount of interest.

Sherlock sighs, lowering his phone. "Yes and no we are no closer to locating this 'vigilante' though I doubt we ever will." He replies as if he had answered the same questions dozens of times.

John feels relief. "Not enough evidence?" He asks. He silently scolds himself for pushing but he really is curious.

"I gave enough evidence but physical evidence, no. Unfortunately there isn't enough information to find the shooter." Sherlock answers with a tone of disappointment, "Pity I was thoroughly impressed that someone could make that shot from their position without injuring me in the process."

John keeps his pride in check at the praises knowing that he had no reason to be preening when he wasn't even supposed to know about it.

"Oh we're here."  Sherlock says as the cab pulls up to the curb.

John looks out and spots Speedy's. "You live here?" Surprised he had been so close without even knowing it.

Sherlock nods. "My landlady, Mrs. Hudson, gives me a good deal on the rent. Her ex-husband was arrested for murder and drug trafficking."

"So you got him off?" John asks.

"No I ensured it."

The two entered the building, into a short hall taken up mostly with a flight of stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson is here, she's a friendly sort so don't feel guilty about asking her for anything."  Sherlock tells him indicating a door on the left, “The other place is empty, and I use it for experiments every now and then.”

John nods and follows Sherlock up the stairs. Once inside the doctor gets a good look around.

He had seen this room in one of his visions but seeing it in person is almost surreal and John has to walk around just to prove its reality. The room is cluttered, almost in an organized way. He looks over the stacks of books and papers, noting there is several different genres. There’s furniture but it’s just as chaotic as the rest of the room. Everything he sees reminds him of Sherlock and he approves.

“This will do,” John mutters, “very nice indeed.” He notes the two chairs by the fireplace.

One is an over stuffed arm chair with a union jack pillow on the seat while the other one is a little more modern with black leather and cold metal. Settling into the overstuffed chair and relaxing a bit since his leg had started to twinge painfully.

Sherlock looks him over and smiles. “You approve?”

John nods giving him a wink and wiggles further into the chair.

The taller man chuckles lightly.

“Sherlock are you home dear?” A voice is yelling from the stairs, creaking with the weight on them.

Sherlock’s smile grows slightly before disappearing completely as an older woman comes through the door. She’s a tiny thing with short, curly hair that is a greying brown. She spots John and her brown eyes widen, glancing at Sherlock briefly.

“Ah Mrs. Hudson this is Dr. John Watson, he’s looking to move in.” Sherlock introduces patting the woman on the shoulder.

Mrs. Hudson perks up instantly.  "Oh that's wonderful Sherlock! It will be good to have another warm body." She smiled moving closer to John.

The doctor takes her hand, causing another vision.

_Mrs. Hudson in her kitchen cooking, singing loudly and very off-key._

Coming back to the present the woman in front of him is looking at him with concern.

"Oh yes he does that sometimes, don't be alarmed.” Sherlock tells her.

John blushes and mutters an apology.

Mrs. Hudson waves his apology away. "Don't fret dear," she smiles before speaking again, "I doubt Sherlock's given you a tour but there's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two." She gives John a wink.

That causes him to blush again for another reason. "I...umm..." he stammers simmering from the heat rushing to his face.

"Not to worry, we have all kinds around here. Miss Turner next door has married ones." Mrs. Hudson says glancing fondly at Sherlock, “Oh but listen to me jabbering, I’ll get out of your hair.” Though she doesn’t leave immediately she wanders through the flat, scolding Sherlock on the state of various areas.

“Yes, yes thank you Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock snaps herding the woman from the flat, “If we need anything we know where you are.”

Before he gets the door fully closed John heard her parting words and holds back a laugh; “I’m your landlady not your housekeeper.”

Sherlock turns and flashes a charming yet very fake smile, John wonders what the man will look like when he smiles or when he actually smiles. “Like I said she’s a friendly sort and you’ll hear from her daily, nagging.”

“She seems lovely, like a mother hen.” John tells him standing up.

Sherlock nods. “Exactly, well I guess a tour is in order.” He says.

John shrugs. “If you’d rather do something else I can look around myself, I don’t want to be a bother.” He suggests.

The other man stares for a moment. “I’m not very keen towards social niceties but I believe I am inclined as the current tenant to help familiarize you with this potential dwelling.” He says looking a little disgusted.

John laughs, “I don’t want you to practice ‘social niceties’ if it irritates you that much.”

“That is unusual.” Sherlock narrows his eyes seeming a little skeptical.

“I’m not a usual man.” John tells him before leaving him to locate the bathroom.

There’s a bedroom next to the tiny space that the doctor notes as Sherlock’s room, down a short hallway a flight of stairs leads up to a closed door. John limps up the stairs and pushes the door open with his cane. The second bedroom is a decent size with a bed striped of linens.

All in all John is much happier with this set up then with the bedsit that is a looming maw of despair.

"You can move it tonight if you prefer."

John hadn't even heard Sherlock follow him but his reflexes refuse to let him be startled. "Excuse me?" He asks.

Sherlock sighs giving him an annoyed look. "For future reference; I hate repeating myself. You can move in tonight."

"I didn't say I was going to move in." John says.

"You didn't have to. You hate the bedsit and are happy with this, so why delay the inevitable." Sherlock comments.

John eyes him. The man had a point, John is more than happy to admit that but he felt like he needed to keep Sherlock guessing. "I do hate the bedsit but at least I have my space." He says.

Sherlock glares. "Irrelevant."

John barks out a laugh. "Why do you say that?"

"I am not one for company nor do I provide such things so you would have your 'space'." Sherlock replies.

"Fine, fine," John says chuckling, "I was just teasing you."

Sherlock sighs. "Please refrain in the future."

"No promises,” John tells him smiling, "I plan on getting to know you."

Sherlock blinks at him a moment seeming surprised by the comment. "Hungry?" He asks suddenly.

"Starving." John answers.

"Wonderful. We can stop at your bedsit afterwards." Sherlock says turning to leave the room.

John follows still reeling from the events of the day. That morning John had no hope that he would not only find the man he had saved and dreamt of but also be moving in with said man.

"I know a little Italian place." Sherlock calls over his shoulder as they make their way down the stairs.

"I love Italian." John says.

Sherlock glances back smirking. "I know."

"Smug bastard." John chuckles, listening to the answering laugh.                 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their connection is noticeable from the beginning there is no doubt.


	7. Awkward Dining

Sherlock easily hails a cab on the street and not long after they stop outside a small restaurant, Angelo's.

Upon walking in a large man descends on them. "Sherlock!" They man yells joyously sweeping the lanky man into a bone breaking hug.

Sherlock glares but John can tell this isn't an unusual occurrence.

"Oh forgive me," the man says in a thick accent after releasing Sherlock, "you are on a date. I apologize for the intrusion. Come sit." He gestures to a nearby table.

John clears his throat uncomfortably but doesn't argue as he takes the seat facing the door.

Sherlock takes the seat across from him and the large man sets candles or on the table.

"This man," he says pointing at Sherlock, "he got me off a murder charge. I owe him my life."

Sherlock smiles slightly. "John this is Angelo. I proved he was on the other side of the city breaking and entering when the murder was committed."

Angelo nods enthusiastically. "Sherlock is a great man, I would do anything for him."

John looks between the two, nearly laughing at the look on Sherlock's face.

"Order whatever you want, as always it's on the house, for you and your date." The large man tells them setting out menus.

"I'm not his date." John protests but Angelo is already walking away. He sighs feeling that this is what is going to happen a lot. "He's very boisterous."

Sherlock sighs. "Very but he means well."

They sit in silence, John notes it's not an awkward silence. Already he feels that they wouldn’t be sharing anything but comfortable between them though that could be his persistent hope.

Angelo returns to take their order seeming to be keeping himself restrained. Before he leaves he gives John a wink and chuckling lightly.

John glares after him but can't feel too irritated about being mistaken for being gay with Angelo's lingering presence, permeating the air. "So do you have a girlfriend?" He asks feeling he knows the answer.

Sherlock is typing away on his phone. "Girlfriend...umm not really my area." He answers.

"Boyfriend? Because that's fine too." John asks. He shouldn’t be asking such personal questions but his curiosity is getting the better of him.

“I know its fine,” Sherlock says defensively lowering his phone to look at John, “And no I don’t.”

John nods, “Good, fine. You’re unattached like me.” He mutters uncertain why he even bothered asking.

“John,” Sherlock speaks softly and John swears he saw a slight blush behind the man’s ears, “I am flattered by your offer but I must tell you I consider myself married to my work.”

John feels his own face redden. “No, I...umm...no. I was just...no. I was making an observation.” He protests.

Sherlock holds his gaze for a long moment and John wants to look away but the intense eyes capture him. Luckily Angelo appears with their food.

It isn't until the large man leaves does John realize that Sherlock ordered nothing but a glass of wine. "Aren't you eating?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "I don’t eat a lot, digestion slows me down.”

“That makes no sense,” John laughs, “I’m a doctor so don’t be surprised if I nag you about that especially since you insist on chasing after criminals.” He tells the other man before digging into the pasta. It’s fantastic and John wonders when the last time Sherlock ate.

Angelo stops by and sets down a plate of bread sticks as he passes the large man pats John on the back sending him into a vision.

_Angelo is hunched over a desk, the papers he’s reading show numbers and look to be in the negatives. “I don’t understand, I just don’t understand.” He keeps muttering shuffling through the stacks but seeming to be finding nothing._

The scene shifts:

_One of the waiters dressed in the uniform of the restaurant is looking around nervously as he pulled bundles of cash from a safe._

"John?"

Sherlock's voice calling his name snaps John back to the present. The doctor blinks to clear his vision.

The taller man is leaning towards him. "How often does that usually happen to you?" Sherlock asks.

John shrugs. "More today than usual." He answers. It is true, John hadn't had a vision until the ones he had of Sherlock, it seemed just being around the man made his ability stronger.

Sherlock eyes him slowly, sitting back in his seat. "Where does your mind go?" He asks.

John thinks about it a moment, maybe just maybe this man might believe him when his parents didn’t but decides against it. “It’s hard to describe, my brain takes a vacation and I float through space. I never know how long I’m there or how I even get there or what even triggers it. It’s happened to me since I was a child and doctors’ could never tell me why. I’ve since given up trying to figure it out, I’ve learn to live with it.” He explains leaving out the bit about seeing visions of the future but making sure to keep it pretty close to the truth.

Sherlock nods. “I believe I understand. I have a mind palace though I can access it when I need to organize information or review information I find vital to cases that I work. I can spend days in my mind palace and have no notion of the passage of time. I’m aware it isn’t exactly the same but I believe it is similar.”

John did note the similarities but still didn’t feel like he can confide in Sherlock just yet. Instead of commenting he begins to eat keeping an eye on Sherlock as he sips on his wine and nibbles on a breadstick. When everything is empty Angelo appears again, clearing the table with the help of a few waiters before withdrawing again.

John spots the waiter again and can see the man looks nervous just like in his vision. “Sherlock,” the doctor says getting the attention of the other man, “what do you make of that gentlemen?”

Sherlock glances at the waiter, eyeing him. The other man is silent while he observes and John watches his eyes narrow with a look of disgust, a feeling of hope grows in the smaller man. “Angelo.” He calls.

The large man is at Sherlock’s side in an instant, smiling brightly.

“That waiter there is stealing from your tills after his shifts.” He tells the man.

Angelo blinks at him slowly before turning to look at the indicated waiter. “Dave? He’s worked for me almost a year, are you certain?”

“Very.” Sherlock answers with a nod.

“Thank you Sherlock.” Angelo says with a sigh before moving towards the waiter.

John looks away from the scene that’s about to take place and stands up. Sherlock follows keeping pace with the limping doctor.

“How did you know?”

John nearly misses the other man’s question. Glancing over he notices Sherlock watching him. “What?”

“The waiter, how did you know?” He repeats sighing in irritation.

John kicks himself remembering Sherlock hated repeating himself. "He looked nervous and nervous people aren't usual good news." He tells him.

The taller man hums without speaking and hails a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice that John was able to help Angelo before it was too late.


	8. Settling In

It's almost a month later before John gets to see Sherlock work at a crime scene.

The doctor had quickly settled in to 221B and his shifts at the clinic. He even snagged a date with Sarah but it became pretty clear early on that they wouldn't be starting anything serious. They both end it on friendly terms and John found himself enjoying his life.

Since returning invalid John hadn't had many days of emotion and now he is almost overwhelmed with the onslaught but you wouldn't hear him complaining. John still dreamed but they are all pleasant, just scenes of daily life of Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson and even Mike Stamford every now and then.

He had already experienced Sherlock in his many forms, more presently; boredom. The man was simply incapable of handling a normal day. John had never encountered a man who relied so much on something that would considered a hobby but for Sherlock it seemed violent crimes are his lifeblood.

Sherlock had nearly given John a heart attack one evening after a long day at the clinic. The doctor had just started up the stairs to the flat when a familiar sound rang out above his head. Thinking the worst John sprinted up the last few steps into the room only to find Sherlock sprawled in his chair shooting John’s gun at the wall!

Flabbergasted John yelled; “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Bored,” Sherlock yelled firing off a shot, “Bored, bored, bored.” He continued with each word.

After relieving Sherlock of John’s gun, the doctor scolded the man about not only destroying Mrs. Hudson's wall but shooting his illegal gun. Sherlock didn’t seem to care only grumbled about his brain rotting and pouted about John taking the gun away. There was no saving the wall that not only had fresh bullet holes but a bright yellow smiley face painted on it. John wasn’t in the mood for an explanation so he didn’t even bother to ask.

After weeks of calm, visionless nights John isn't prepared for the dream that hits him. The moment John shuts his eyes he's watching a woman fighting for life.

_She's pinned, her blonde hair splayed out beneath her. John can't see who's holding her down but he can feel her fear and confusion. She's trying to scream but large hands are wrapped around her throat keeping the noise inside but it’s roaring in John’s ears._

_She fists slam into the arms but seem to be doing very little. Her hits grow weaker and weaker until her limbs fall away. What little noises she can make fade and all that can be heard is the heavy breathing of the murderer as he looks down on the staring green eyes of the dead woman._

_The man pulls his hands away and they come back with a knife._

John sits up, fully awake, and panting. He's covered in sweat, clutching his sheets. The darkness is pressing in on him and an irrational fear is growing in him. He has to turn the light on to quiet that fear and get his breathing under control. Slowly his body relaxes and his mind calms.

John had had dreams of death for years in Afghanistan. He watched his soldiers kill and be killed, sometimes he could prevent their deaths but other times there was nothing he could do. But even with that in his past John felt the same horror every time. Watching someone die is one thing but seeing the fear and light fade from their eyes in their last moments is indescribable.

John still feel terror but lowers himself back on to the bed to stare up at the ceiling. He thought of the killer. His hands had been huge compared to the woman's throat and much darker than her pale skin. They were rough and muscular. He isn't a deducing machine like Sherlock but even he can tell the murderer works with his hands.

He turns his thoughts to the woman but quickly changes direction when all that he sees is her terrified eyes. He tries to remember more details about the murderer but gets frustrated and gives up. In that moment John wishes he had Sherlock's brain so he could decipher everything.

John sighs and hopes that his dream can save the woman's life.

Before he can think further on the dream John is forced into another vision.

_He thinks he's alone, staring out at an empty alley, brick walls limit his vision. Everything is quiet even the bugs have gone silent. It's eerie and puts John on edge. Staining his ears John can hear footsteps approaching. The crunching steps get closer and closer drawing out the moment. John's heart is thundering wanting nothing more than to get away._

_John is startled when a body falls in front of him. The woman from before is in front of him though now large, crimson holes are staring at him instead of eyes._

John screams as he's projected from the dream. He scrambles up, his body shaking.

"John."

The doctor fights off the feeling of panic upon hearing Sherlock's voice. Looking around he spots the taller man at the foot of his bed.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John breaths, "what are you doing?" Trying to calm himself.

"I heard you screaming." Sherlock says moving closer.

John brings his breathing under control. "I'm fine just a nightmare." He assures.

Sherlock frowns and sits on the edge of the bed. "You're lying, why are you lying?"

John feels cold suddenly and begins to shiver, pulling his duvet up he thinks of something to say. "I'm not lying." He protests.

"You are a very bad liar," Sherlock tells him with a glare, "You let your emotions show too much."

John returns with his own glare. "Why do you care?" He snaps.

Sherlock blinks looking uncertain.

"It was a nightmare," The smaller man sighs, "but a nightmare from a memory." He lies but knowing if he could dream normally he had a vault of bad memories for night terrors to feed off of.

"War is a nightmare but unlike fantasy you can't escape. Death is at every turn and every moment could be your last. I've seen people murdered for the sake of death. I'm surprised this is the first I've had seen returning invalid." John says. He doesn't have to fake emotion for something very really.

Sherlock's face has softened and now holds a look John hadn't seen before. "Come with me." He says.

Sherlock is out of the room before John can question him. The doctor has no choice but to follow. He finds the other man in the living room with the violin he had only seen in his vision.

Sherlock glances at him before starting to play.

It is the music from his dream. John sinks down into the chair he had claimed as his and stares. After dreaming about this song John had hunted for it and had found different renditions but Sherlock made the music alive. He hadn’t seen the lanky man show any real passion towards anything until now.

Sherlock is swaying with the music, his eyes are closed, and he has his brows wrinkled with concentration.

The music itself is a little dark but beautiful. It flows with sharp pitch changes and small vibratos that spike between parts. The notes rang out and the taller man’s fingers elegantly touched the strings with the lightest strokes.

As the song progresses Sherlock relaxes and his face takes on a softer quality. He looks peaceful and even a small smile is tugging at his mouth, John knows little about music or even playing the violin but Sherlock played it like he had been born with the instrument in hand.

The last note slips in gently caressing John as it fades and he doesn’t even care that he is still staring as Sherlock lowers the violin, who is staring back with that smile still on his face. The doctor blinks and notes that the smile he is receiving is a truly, real smile. Not the many fake, or half-arsed smiles that he had witnessed on the man’s face but a real smile.

“Absolutely magnificent.” John breaths.

Sherlock's smile stretches becoming dazzling and even a hue has taken effect on his cheeks. "It helps me think." He shrugs.

The doctor chuckles before standing up. "Tea?" He asks.

Sherlock nods bringing his violin back up and begins playing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a little taste of what John deals with but of course the doctor is discovering that something is a little different. He also gets to hear some of Sherlock's talent, I based the song off this YouTube video; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KaYzgofHjc


	9. An Eye for an Eye

"John! Wake up!" A voice snaps.

John yelps awake as something is thrown at him.

"Hurry John, there's been a murder!" Sherlock speaks again and more things are tossed at John.

Slowly pulling back the cloth on top of him John squints against the morning light streaming in from the living room windows.

After making tea for both Sherlock and himself John had say to listen to the man play. During the performance he must have fallen asleep.

"John!" Sherlock groans from the door. He's dressed and inching for the door.

John glances at the clock on the wall as he stretches. "Sherlock it's barely seven in the morning." He says standing up.

"I got a call about a murder." Sherlock states.

"Well go on then," John says, "why do you need to throw things at me?"

Sherlock huffs, "you are a doctor, your expertise would be valuable at a crime scene."

"I'm sure they have perfectly capable people." John assures feeling his shoulder twinge from sleeping in his chair.

"None of them will work with me," Sherlock argues, "and no, they are not 'capable'."

John smiles to himself.

"John would you please accompany me?" The taller man asks flashing a charming smile.

"Manipulative bastard," John chuckles, "fine but only if you don't insult me while we're there." Heading for his bedroom, he dresses quickly, and hurries back downstairs.

Sherlock looks thrilled, giving John a real smile, and waltzes from the flat with a doctor close behind.

As they travel through the city John can only feel a sense of dread knowing exactly what he is going to find. His brain is already fighting and he can feel the energy whirling around him. John feels electrified like anything could set him off into more gruesome visions. John Instinctively draws in on himself keeping his body parts close.

When they arrive at the scene police are crowding the area and it just looks busy. Sherlock jumps from the cab and holds the door open for John as he pays. 

Sliding from the vehicle the doctor follows, moving for the yellow tape.

"What are you doing here freak?" A dark skinned woman in a suit stops them. She's holding a radio and eyeing Sherlock with disgust.

"Ah Donovan, what is the insult today? What creative insight have you nestled in your repertoire?" Sherlock asks sounding weary.

The woman scoffs, glaring. "What are you doing here?" She repeats.

Sherlock sighs. "I was invited."

Her face sours even more, "We don't need you freak!" She spits.

"Obviously you do or I wouldn't be here." Sherlock counters moving to pass her.

The officer moves with him blocking his path again.

John feels this is the moment to step in, he gets between them. "That's enough." He says Glaring at them.

"Who are you?" Donovan questions, trying to use her height against him.

The ex-soldier isn't even slightly intimidated but he doesn't get a chance to answer.

"He's a colleague." Sherlock replies drawing her attention back to him.

The woman smirks in a less than friendly manner. "Colleague, how do you get a colleague?" Before focusing on John again, "Did he follow you home?"

Sherlock narrows his eyes and lifts the caution tape.

Donovan sneers but steps away, allowing them to pass, and brings her radio to her mouth. "Bringing the Freak in."

Moving past her quickly they are met by a man coming out of the alley. He's running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair in frustration, barely stopping before running into Sherlock. “Thank god,” the man mutters looking relieved, “I’m glad you’re here, no one can make heads or tails of this.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock huffs sliding onward.

John pauses, “Dr. John Watson.” He introduces himself with a nod. He had seen this man in a few of his visions of Sherlock

The man blinks, “Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.”

John smiles, “Hope I’m not intruding I’m Sherlock’s flat mate and he invited me along. I have a background of dealing with...unpleasantness.” He explains.

“Wait, hold up,” Greg says looking stunned and a bit confused, “You’re Sherlock’s flat mate?”

It’s the doctor’s turn to blink at the man, “Yes?” He answers.

“You live with him,” Lestrade repeats gesturing at Sherlock over his shoulder, “as in the same living space.”

“Yes.” John replies, glaring still uncertain where this is going.

The D.I. falls silent for a moment, “I’m going to need to processes this for a moment. “ Before moving away.

John stands there watching Greg walk away trying to figure out what had just happened.

“John!” Sherlock calls pulling the doctor attention back to the situation on hand.

John anxiety spikes and it’s a strain just to get his body to move forward. His mind flashes back to the dream and he wants nothing more than to be wrong but already knowing he’s not. Keeping himself calm and reminding himself that he had dealt with worse even if it had been a long time.

The woman looks exactly as John had last seen her. Her ruined face twisted, yet with surprisingly calm look etched into her features. Blonde hair caked in dried blood is clumped to the side of her head, she is young and beautiful or had been now she is just a corpse.

John takes in a heavy breath and kneels down. He already knows how she died but he needs to make it look like he came up with these fact through legitimate means. Using a pair of gloves John lifts her arms to look at the slight defensive bruises on her forearms.

Even without touching her skin physically it sends him into a vision;

It starts where it left off from before with the knife in the murderer’s hand but this time John gets to watch the clumsy process of the killer removing the woman’s eyes.

Coming back to the present John represses his gag reflex that is threatening to empty his stomach. Quickly he moves on to the gaping maws that are her eye sockets. As he already witnessed the murderer isn’t skilled in cutting through skin, the torn flesh is jagged and uneven.

“Doctor?” Sherlock asks from behind him.

John sighs sitting back on his heels, “She’s been dead eight, nine hours, strangled, judging by the deep bruises on her neck," He moves her head to show the bruising, "Lack of blood says she was dumped after she was killed."

"The murderer cut out her eyes after she was dead as well. She has defensive bruises on her arms so she fought back, he had her pinned on the ground," he lifts one of her arms.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asks.

John stands up stripping his gloves. "Nothing my idiotic brain can detect." He replies.

Sherlock smiles before turning with a serious face. "It was the boyfriend."

Lestrade appears looking confused. "Boyfriend?"

"Yes," Sherlock huffs, "she was trying to leave an abusive relationship. Her boyfriend found out and killed her."

"Oh for god sakes, if you're making this up." The D.I. threatens.

The tall man glares, "Look at her clothes," he gestures, "she wears long sleeves and high collars. She's hiding bruises and I bet if you check her medical records she's been in the hospital multiple times with minor injuries."

"But why cut out her eyes?" Greg asks.

Sherlock shrugs, "you'll have to ask the boyfriend when you bring him in for questioning." He answers before turning to leave.

John smiles apologetically at Lestrade as he hurries after Sherlock barely catching up in time to get in a cab with the other man.

"Why do you think he cut out her eyes?" John can't help but ask.

Sherlock glances at him. "I have a few theories." But doesn't elaborate.

The doctor presses; "well what are they?"

Sherlock huffs, "it could be as a souvenir, a keepsake, a token to remind him of his victory."

John listens and knows that isn't quite it. Somehow he knows that there's more. "He loved her eyes."

Sherlock stops speaking.

"He loved her eyes so much he didn't want them to leave, they were his favorite part about her." John says before realizing he sounds insane, "wow I must really be tired." He chuckles ignoring the heat rising in his face.

Sherlock narrows his eyes but says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of John's enhanced abilities are coming into play but it seems that Sherlock might suspect something.


	10. Out in the Open

Later in the day after a short nap, a shower, and several cups of tea John is reading in his chair.

Sherlock had been lounging on the couch until a phone call takes him to his bedroom leaving John in silence though trust it won’t last.

John is deep in the sentences of his book when a prickling sensations jars him. Startled and a bit confused he looks around. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he spots Sherlock inches from him just staring.

"For fucks sake Sherlock," John curses, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Sherlock says nothing as he moves closer.

John doesn't like the way the man is looking at him. "Bad news?" He questions hoping it will explain what is going on.

Still nothing and now the taller man is leaning into John's personal space. His eyes dart around John's face as if looking for something.

"Sherlock," the doctor asks nervously, "what's going on?"

"How did you know?" Sherlock finally speaks moving away from John.

"What?" John is confused.

Sherlock glares, "the eyes! How did you know about the eyes?" He snaps.

The doctor is still uncertain what Sherlock is asking. "What are you talking about?"

In a second Sherlock is back in his space and even closer. Their noses are brushing as the taller man invades. "The boyfriend confessed he took her eyes because they were his favorite part about her."

John feels his stomach drop and all the blood leaves his body.

"How did you know?" Sherlock growls gripping John's shoulders tightly.

"I...I..." John stammers being overwhelmed with foreign emotions. He's starting to feel sick with the onslaught before realizing the things he is feeling aren’t coming from him but Sherlock.

That is definitely new. John had only been able to feel his familiar emotions but here he is receiving waves from the other man so much stronger than anything John has ever felt.

"Can you back off a bit?" John's voice is strained and he’s having trouble focusing with everything bombarding him.

Sherlock of course does the opposite he presses even closer, if that were possible, and grabs John’s face. “How did you know?” He repeats.

John doesn’t hear him, as soon as the man touched his face he’s pulled into a vision.

Sherlock is sitting on his bed in his room with the phone against his ear.

“We’ve brought him in, you were right, he confessed to everything.” Greg’s voice can be heard.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Obviously.” 

“Oh and we asked him about her eyes, why he cut them out,” Lestrade says, “and he said it was his favorite part of her.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes before standing, “what were his exact words?” He asks.

“I have it written down here,” there’s the sound of shuffling papers, “so he said he loved her eyes so much he didn’t want them to leave, they were his favorite part about her.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and he looks at his closed door.

John blinks as he comes back and is startled that Sherlock is still centimeters from his face. “Sherlock can you please back up?” He snarls.

The other man slowly backs off but remains close.

With the space John can finally force out the emotions that aren’t his, they don’t fade completely but there is a separation. Now he is certain that something about Sherlock heightens his abilities, there had been half-thought suspicions but he wasn’t certain. He had a connection with the genius and it is going to be impossible to keep anything a secret.

“You shot the cabbie.”

John nearly stops breathing.

“You shot the cabbie and saved my life but how you knew to be there in time is what baffles me," Sherlock says, "don't bother denying it, I already know."

John is staring holes into the other man, still stunned.

Sherlock moves closer, he moves slowly. "It took me a few days to confirm that you are indeed the one who shot the cabbie. It was your gun that gave you away. You tried hiding it but I easily found it. Taking a bullet fired from it I wasn't at all surprised to find it matching the one from the cabbie." Sherlock explains, "Now I could take this information to detective inspector Lestrade but I'd rather hear the truth from you. So John..." he pauses, "how did you know?"

John swallows thickly at a loss of words. He had never attempted to explain himself since he was a child knowing that no one would believe him. But now he is confronted and he doesn't know how to proceed.

Sherlock is hovering inches from his face, his eyes penetrating John's very being. "John." He whispers.

John takes in a deep breath. "It's hard to explain." He says.

"Try." Sherlock orders.

"You won't believe me." John tries.

Sherlock glares. "John."

John balls his fists and squeezing his eyes shut. "I have dreams, visions. I see things that happen, that will happen, that have happen. They're unpredictable and come at any time, I can't control them. But ever since I moved in with you I'm more sensitive, I've been seeing and knowing things I couldn't before. That's how I knew about the eyes, when you were talking about it I heard what he was thinking. I've never been able to do that!"

Now that John had found the words they are just falling out. "I've watched men die but those were men I knew since I met you I now watch people I've never met die. I hear murderer’s inner thoughts! Before, I knew I was different but now I'm pretty sure I'm going insane!" He finishes and manages to open his eyes.

Sherlock's glare has vanished and an indescribable look has replaced it. His eyes are still fixed on John but unmoving and staring. Without a word he turns and walks out of the flat.

John stares at the more empty space not quite believing it. The sound of the front door shutting jars him. Shooting up John runs to the window to see Sherlock hailing a cab. Still shocked his brain isn't connecting and cannot fathom what had just happened. He stares down at the street until his mind can fully understand the situation.

He had just confessed his most strictly, kept secret to a man he had only known a month and that man had just left without a word. What did that mean? Sherlock wouldn't just leave without a reason and it wasn't the first time he had left without a word.

John drifted away from the window, thinking about making tea but even the calming effect tea usually had didn't seem worth it. John wanted to sleep so that he be unconscious for whatever was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't really keep things a secret from the man who lives off of solving stuff, John was silly to think he could. Though to be fair he's never had to deal with someone so observant.


	11. Understandings

The moment John closed his eyes he was somewhere else;

Somewhere dark that smells like sea water. He instantly knows he's on a ship, a large cargo ship with some kind of mission in mind.

A door opens nearby and sound of cars and the smell of London assaults him. Somewhere in the city is a treasure and a thief but who is going to die?

John opens his eyes and his darkened ceiling stretches above him. Someone is calling to him but not speaking. He can feel a prickling at the back of his mind, tugging at him.

Sitting up John spots a shadow dwelling in the doorway. He knows its Sherlock and knows Sherlock is the one calling to him.K

"How do you know about the cabbie?" The man asks moving towards the bed.

John leans back against the headboard after turning the side table lamp on. "I only dream about people I know but you, you I saw weeks before we even met." He starts speaking low but clearly, "You were at gun point and I knew you were going to die if I didn't do something to save you."

"I found you by accident, I came to Speedy's because I got turned around and saw you getting into a cab. I followed you and shot a man. Then by some sort of coincidence Mike told me that you were looking for a flat mate.”

“The first time we met,” Sherlock speaks in a hushed tone, settling on the edge of the bed, “you...zoned out, what did you see?”

John smiles remembering, “You, playing the violin. Bach, Partita number two.”

Sherlock frowns. The look on his face seems to be one of disappointment.

"I don't only see death or terrible things, I get to watch people live. Since I've been here most nights I see Mrs. Hudson watching the telly or using her 'herbal soothers'. Other times I get to watch you experiment or work in the lab." John explains, “Not every future has blood in it.”

There’s a silence now, they sit together but both in their own heads and keeping to themselves. John is watching Sherlock uncertain what might happen and trying to read the other man. He was never good at that and isn’t surprised when he can’t even fathom what could be going through Sherlock’s mind.

“You said I enhance your ability?” Sherlock finally spoke.

John nods. “I’ve only seen people I know die but then I watched that woman die.”

Sherlock stares at him. “Your nightmare?” He asks.

“Yes and no that is what I dreamed but not really a nightmare when it comes true.” John replies.

“Do you always dream about the future?” The taller man asks shifting into a more comfortable spot on the bed.

“Most of the time. I don’t have normal dreams, never have but when I’m not dreaming I guess I just sit in darkness until I wake up.” John answers and watches Sherlock’s eyes widen.

More silence follows and it’s almost maddening for John, he just wants to know what Sherlock wants him to do or even just tell him what he is thinking. John is nearly sweating with anxiety and fighting not to fidget under the pressure.

“I’m not going to take my evidence to Lestrade.” Sherlock says.

For a moment John is slightly confused having forgot about the cabbie. “So you believe me?” He asks feeling a bit hopeful and even a little surprised.

Sherlock looks at him a moment before answering, “Honestly, I don’t know.”

John feels himself fall, “I understand.” He makes himself say, if he hadn’t lived this way his whole life he wouldn’t believe either.

“This questions everything I’ve ever perceived and I feel that I’ll need some time to come to an understanding.” Sherlock explains sounding frustrated.

“I can move out.” John offers really not wanting to come to that but he would if it made Sherlock feel better.

The man shakes his head, “no need. I won’t have you homeless when there’s a perfectly useable bed.”

John smiles weakly. “I’ll make sure to stay out of your way then.” He tells him.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock glares at him through the gloom, “I want to understand this so I want you to tell me whenever you have a dream, maybe we can even use them to our advantage. I want to see how much I enhance your abilities.”

“I am not an experiment!” John snaps.

“Not an experiment but a study of something thought to be impossible.” Sherlock corrects.

John isn’t fooled. “I’m not stupid, that’s just another word for experiment.” He argues.

The other man rolls his eyes, “John this is for my own understanding, nothing else.”

John wants to argue more but if it keeps him living at Baker Street, who is he to refuse? “Fine but I want to see all your notes and you don’t post anything about it online.” Hating how he can't say no to the other man.

Sherlock smiles and looks genuinely excited. "Excellent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well at least they figured a few things out and John got to have a little rant about how things are changing for him. All in all things might be looking up and Sherlock does enjoy discovering things about people.


	12. The Bank

The following days are a whirlwind, John can't do much without Sherlock questioning him, nowhere is safe.

In the middle of the night the man had burst in startling John awake and start interrogating him. John was in the shower getting ready to go to work and Sherlock picks the lock to sit on the toilet, ignoring the screaming John until he could ask his questions before leaving.

John grew weary of it quickly but endured knowing he had agreed and finally having a feeling of relief, a pressure he had carried for his whole life and now someone knows about him. Not even his family had considered his ability, they had hushed him and told him to stop talking nonsense. Now his mad flat mate is the one who to truly wished to understand, John can scarcely believe it.

Sherlock takes him on a few more cases and John comes to find the man tends to throw himself into dangerous situations on purpose. The consulting detective loved not only figuring out the suspect but chasing down said suspect no matter what crime or how dangerous the person might be.

It is John’s full time job to keep the man alive and with as few injuries as possible even if it seemed Sherlock’s goal is to give the doctor a heart attack well before his time. John had patched, sewn, and bandaged up Sherlock more times than most of the men the captain had commanded.

Every now and then John’s visions come through and actual help in a case but mostly it just shows the gory bits, leaving John queasy. The doctor only wants his visions to be of use and maybe even be able to keep Sherlock alive a bit longer.

After a long day at the clinic John doesn’t even change into night wear before collapsing on his bed, exhaustion doesn’t even stop the vision;

John is staring at a portrait of a large man. He's dressed in a suit and looking out very seriously.

That's a flash and the portrait had a yellow symbol painted across it.

Another flash and a marble statue appears sprouting the same yellow symbol.

John opens his eyes to morning light streaming in from his window. He didn't know what the symbols meant but he felt it wasn't good. Stretching and yawning the doctor props himself up in bed. The dream had been ominous but he feels great, fully rested and ready for whatever is to come. The night before feels a million miles away and the sun brings a new day.

He takes his time getting up and down the stairs to the shower, still wearing his clothes from the day before. He sings in the warm water uncaring that his flat mate can hear him.

Dressed and still in a good mood John exits the bathroom into the kitchen where Sherlock is working on his experiment.

The current ongoing study had to do with pureed human tongues and the chilling temperature or something like that. Chemistry had never been John's strongest subject Sherlock's explanations mostly went over his head. The man's experiments made no sense.

John kept his opinions to himself about the things Sherlock did as long as they didn't ruin the flat. "How are the tongues?" He asks readying the tea kettle.

"I finished that last night now I'm on toes." Sherlock responds.

John sets out two cups. "Did you sleep at all?" He asks already guessing the answer.

Sherlock huffs setting down the container he had been looking at. "I don't sleep often only when my transport demands it."

John glares at the man. Sherlock believed his body only a transport for his brain and thought ignoring its needs was an option. Getting Sherlock to eat was a chore now sleep. If the man doesn't die from chasing down criminals all over London he is going to of starvation or organ failure.

"You know sleep deprivation affects brain function as in it slows down brain processes." John points out.

Sherlock glares at him. "Sleep takes up time I can be utilizing productively." He says.

"There is no case at the moment and all you're doing is playing with body parts." John argues.

"John," Sherlock chides, "I am gathering information that could be vital in future investigations."

John sighs knowing that Sherlock won't give up. "Whatever, tea?" He asks.

"Two sugars, black." He replies picking the container up again.

John finishes the tea and sets it at Sherlock's elbow before going about making breakfast. Eggs, toast, and beans for two went on to plates and to the table.

Sherlock continues to work and John puts a plate near him knowing the man would eat without realizing it.

"You had a dream last night."

John stops eating to glance at the other man who didn't look up as he worked. "Yeah, how'd you know?" He asks.

"What did you dream about?" Sherlock continues ignoring the question.

"A painting," John answers, "and a statue, spray painted with yellow symbols."

"What kind of symbols?" The man asks all his attention on the doctor.

John shrugs, "never seen anything like them."

Sherlock waves his response away, "Irrelevant, can you draw them?" He asks grabbing paper and pen.

"I'm not an artist." John tells him quickly sketching out the symbol.

Sherlock doesn't say anything as he takes the sketch but the doctor didn't miss the eye roll. The consulting detective looks over the symbol carefully.

"I am unfamiliar with this as well I'll have to do some research. Tell me about the painting." Sherlock says setting the sketch aside.

John describes the painting and the statue.

Sherlock sits back in his chair in thought while John cleans up.

With the dishes set aside to dry John turns to ask Sherlock what his plans were for the day but suddenly the word bank starts chanting in his mind.

"Bank?" Sherlock asks.

John blinks but the chanting continues. He must have said it out loud and open his mouth to explain when Sherlock's phone announces the arrival of a text and the chanting ceases. The doctor stares at the device perplexed.

Sherlock picks it up, his eyes darting over the words. After a minute he sets the phone down and gives John a hard look. "Sebastian Wilkes, a man I knew briefly at uni, has asked for my services." He tells John.

John doesn’t understand why the man is telling him.

"Sebastian Wilkes is a CEO of a major international financing firm based here in London." Sherlock finishes.

"Bank." The doctor exhales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if it wasn't obvious already this is unbeta'd and there are some errors that my eyes haven't noticed. So if anyone knows someone who beta's or beta's yourself I would love for some help.


	13. The Blind Banker; Abridged

Two hours later the men find themselves in the elevator on their way up to see Sebastian Wilkes. The towering skyscraper gives John the chills and is a dark presence crowding him. Banks, hospitals, cemeteries, the battlefield these places were a few that always echoed with corruption and death, John heard them but he had trained himself to ignore it.

The lift announced their arrival and the metal doors slid open. The clicking of buttons on computers and hushed chatter greets them, there is a brief hesitation before Sherlock strides forward followed closely by John.

Sebastian Wilkes’ office is huge, open, and made up mostly of glass. Even from his secretary’s desk you can see into the office where a man is working away on a computer.

“Gentlemen,” the blonde woman greets giving them a fake smile, “how can I help you?”

Sherlock towers over the woman at her desk, his eyes darting all over her. “Sherlock Holmes, I have an appointment with Sebastian Wilkes.” He tells her glancing at the man in the office.

“Of course Mr. Wilkes is expecting you.” She says, standing and walking for a door to the right. The woman knocks before opening it, “Mr. Wilkes, Mr. Sherlock Holmes is here.”

John finds all this very strange, Wilkes would have seen them coming why announce something he already knew? The doctor shakes his head, following Sherlock into the office.

Sebastian Wilkes is nearly Sherlock’s height and made even more impressive in a perfectly tailored suit that John can’t even image the cost, his brown hair is combed immaculately, no strand is out of place, and he has an air of superiority.

The man smiles, his face crinkles, “Sherlock Holmes.” Sebastian greets throwing a hand out and shaking Sherlock’s hand vigorously.

Sherlock gave a grimace which morphed quickly into a smile. “Sebastian.” He returns.

Sebastian turns his attention to John and offers his hand, “Sebastian Wilkes.” He introduces taking the doctor’s smaller hand.

John expects a visions to plow into him but luckily none did. “Dr. John Watson.” He greets feeling his chill increase when their hands touched.

“Please sit gentlemen,” Sebastian gestures to the seats in front of his desk, he takes his own chair and waits until the two sit, “It’s amazing! You haven’t changed a bit since university.” He comments.

John looks between the two and the vision he had been waiting for.

He’s looking at a younger Sherlock who has a bloody lip and a rapidly swelling black eye. Sherlock is glaring up at someone and clutching his fists tightly.

A man leans in, it’s Sebastian, young like Sherlock. His face is contorted with anger and disgust. “You will never speak in front of me again.” Sebastian warns. Even with the slight height difference Sebastian seemed to tower over the other man without too much effort. “If you do, you’ll regret it, and end up worse then you are now.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes more flinching a bit with pain, probably from his eye.

Sebastian moved even closer his face resting inches from Sherlock’s. “Do you understand?” He asks each word is a dagger.

Sherlock keeps his mouth tightly closed and glares intensely.

As Sebastian swings his arm John is thrown back into the office where the older Sebastian is smiling and in the midst of talking with Sherlock. “Do you still do that trick?”

“Not a trick.” Sherlock replies.

“Trick?” John asks barely restraining his growing anger.

Sebastian chuckles glancing at John, “Did you know this man could tell who you were shagging? God we hated him, nothing was sacred when this man was around.”

The doctor hates this man even without the vision.

“Not a trick, you’ve traveled to the States twice this week alone.” Sherlock tells him.

Sebastian laughs loudly moving his hands and John glances at his watch, the time is wrong and the date is a day off, he smiles knowingly.

"And how do you know that, some special ketchup you can only find in New York?" Sebastian jokes.

Sherlock opens his mouth to answer but John interrupts him; "Your watch." He says.

The other two men look at the doctor with wide eyes. Sherlock looks at him with both pride and surprise. Sebastian on the other is staring with utter shock.

"What?" Sebastian asks.

John shrugs gesturing at the watch. "You changed the time for your first trip and didn't bother to change the time back since you were going back a second time." He tells him.

Sebastian blinks slowly before breaking into laughter. John glances at Sherlock and sees the man smiling at him. The doctor sits back waiting for the laughter to die down.

"I’m impressed,” Sebastian says glancing at his watch, “That is a hard thing to do John Watson.”

John manages not to glare at the man.

“You asked for my help?” Sherlock interrupts a little impatiently.

Sebastian tears his gaze from the doctor back to Sherlock, “Yes of course, we had a break in last night on this floor.”

Sherlock looks at him in confusion, “Break in?”

“Well I guess it would be vandalism since nothing was taken,” Sebastian corrects, “Though it might be a little more relevant if you saw it for yourselves.” He adds standing and leading the other men from the room.

“Doctor,” Sherlock says getting John’s attention, “Very well done.” Showing a really smile.

John beams flooded with pride. “Hey I’m not as much as an idiot as you think.” He jokes and preens as Sherlock chuckles.

The two follow behind Sebastian through the sea of cubicles, receiving long side glances from the people within, until they reach a large open office like the one they had just left. In the room John comes face to face with the painting slashed with bleeding, yellow spray paint.

It’s just like his dream as usual but this time it’s as if Sherlock had been privileged with the dream as well.

“Who is that?” John asks curiosity getting the better of him.

“The late Sir William Shad, former chairmen, this office has become a sort of memorial to him.” Sebastian answers.

John glances around the room, catching sight of the video camera, “get anything on that?”

Sebastian shake his head. “Absolutely nothing, every door in the building that opens gets logged but last night this door never opened.” He replies.

“Interesting.” Sherlock comments.

“We have a hole in our security, find it and we’ll pay you...five figures.” Sebastian says.

Sherlock glares. “I don’t need an incentive Sebastian.” He snaps walking away.

John watches him go before turning back to the other and noticing the cheque in his hand. “He’s kidding you of course.” He says with a forced chuckle.

Sebastian hands the cheque to John and the doctor stuffs it in his pocket without looking at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where we get into the Blind Banker aka everyone's least favorite episode, that's kind of why I choose it.


	14. Hong Kong Trader

After Sebastian returns to his office Sherlock comes back to the portrait to take pictures of the symbols. John stands back quietly letting the man do his work without anyone in his way. He watches the taller man move about, examining everything about the room.

Sherlock puts his phone away. “What are you getting from this room?” He asks not looking at John.

The doctor had been exploring that exact thing as he waited and he knows there is something here but it’s not in this room. “No, not here. Whoever this message is for it’s not for this room.” John answers.

Sherlock hums his response and moves over the window and moves the blinds to reveal a door. Sliding it open he moves over to the wall to look over the side and John feels his stomach plummet.

Suddenly he can’t breathe and he has to plant his hand on the wall to keep himself from collapsing. John feels dizzy and sick, nearly losing his breakfast on the expensive carpet.

“John?!” Sherlock calls moving back into the room and sliding the balcony door shut.

Instantly John feels better, catching his breath he straightens up. “I’m fine, I don’t know what that was about.” He says. The feeling is gone as fast as it had come and now John feels concerned as well as a little worried.

Sherlock eyes search him carefully but he doesn’t say anything which the doctor is grateful for. He didn’t want to explain that feeling of complete and utter emptiness that he felt along with agonizing pain boiling through his system. Whatever it was John didn’t want to revisit it just yet.

Sherlock moves into the ocean of cubicles and stalks around while John watches. As he stands there something is tugging at his brain, urging him to go somewhere. The longer he tries to ignore it the stronger the pull becomes and John has to hold on to something to keep himself from moving.

When the strain became too much John let himself be lead. Releasing the wall his body reacts without effort. He moves away from the wall and his body takes him down between the cubicles. He finally stops in front of a closed office door that is locked with the lights off. The force disappears and John is left staring at the nameplate.

“Edward Van Coon.” He reads turning from the door to look across to the former chairman's office. Even from this distance John can clearly see the yellow splayed across the painting’s face. “Sherlock.” John calls hoping the tall man won’t ignore him.

Luckily Sherlock appears a moment later.

“Edward Van Coon.” John points at the nameplate before gesturing at the painting.

Sherlock follows his finger. He looks between the two for a while before sliding the nameplate from the door. "Well done John."

They return to Sebastian office and Sherlock sets the nameplate in front of him. "The message on your former chairmen was for Mr. Edward Van Coon of your Hong Kong division." Sherlock tells him.

Sebastian holds up the nameplate, examining it.

"Trading closes at midnight for Hong Kong so Van Coon would have been here to see the message. I'll be needing Mr. Van Coon's address." Sherlock says.

"But how did they get in?" Sebastian asks as he types something on his computer.

"Balcony." John answers.

"The balcony door doesn't have a sensor and thus wouldn't register being opened." Sherlock adds.

Sebastian falters. "That's over a hundred feet up, no one could scale that!"

"I was asked to figure out how someone got in. I did, if you don't believe me that's your fault," Sherlock gives the man a hard look, "Someone late last night scaled the side of this building to leave a message for one of your employees. I believe the message is a warning or a threat so most likely Mr. Van Coon is in danger."

Sebastian blinks at Sherlock a second longer as he reaches blindly for a note pad. He quickly writes down the address and slides it to Sherlock. "Keep me updated." He says looking between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know what John was feeling when Sherlock was out on the balcony but don't cry just yet.


	15. It’s a Suicide

Riding back down the elevator John replays the events of the day and his mind keeps stopping on the scene he had seen between Sebastian and Sherlock. Every bruise and crimson drop trailing from his face is etched into John’s mind, fueling the simmering rage.

On the street Sherlock hails and cab whilst typing away on his phone without looking up. Within seconds they are climbing into a taxi.

John sits quietly in boiling anger, barely keeping himself restrained.

“You have questions.” Sherlock states from behind his phone.

John glances at the man, biting his lip. Of course he had questions! But they are mostly bursting to be yelled. Exhaling slowly, his closing his eyes briefly to collect himself. “Why are you helping Sebastian?”

“It’s a case John,” Sherlock replies.

John grips his pant legs until his knuckles whiten. “No, why help Sebastian Wilkes at all?”

The phone finally lowers and the doctor feels piercing eyes burning into him. “Was it when he shook your hand?” Sherlock asks.

He doesn’t need to clarify. “I thought it would but no it happened when he mentioned knowing you at university.” John replies forcing his eyes to keep looking out the window.

Sherlock is quiet for a while before he asks; “What did you see?” His voice is barely above a whisper and if the doctor hadn’t been listening for the question he might have missed it.

John finally turns to look at the other man. Sherlock isn’t looking at him but now taken his time examining the passing scenery. “I saw you, bloody, looking as stubborn as ever. Sebastian was telling you to mind your own business or you would regret it, the usual stuff, “ John says managing to sound normal even with the raging storm boiling through his veins, “You didn’t speak but you didn’t have to, your eyes spoke what was going through your mind and that’s when Sebastian hit you again.”

Sherlock slowly looks at him, “It is unfortunate you had to see me like that.”

John nearly loses it. “Unfortunate? Sherlock, Sebastian doesn’t deserve our help! He’s an arse and pompous bully.”

“That he may be but no matter it’s the case I’m interested in.” Sherlock returns coolly before bringing out his phone.

John watches the man and begins to piece together what exactly is going on. “You didn’t do this for a case.”

That stops Sherlock and he looks over at the doctor. “No?”

“No, you did it to prove something to Sebastian,” John tells him, “Probably to prove to him you aren’t afraid of him or are stronger than you were. It’s just convenient that there’s a case.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow sharply. “How moronic, John let me do the deducing from now.” He snaps.

John glares in return. “You just insult people when they’ve said something that might even be close to the truth.” He counters.

Sherlock barks out a dry laugh. “Now you’re making things up. I insult people when they’re being stupid which you are.”

“Thank you, I’m well aware what you think of me.” John says to end the conversation. He turns away from Sherlock frustrated.

They ride in silence until the cab pulls in front of Edward Van Coon's condo. Sherlock jumps from the cab leaving John to pay the fare.

Tossing the driver some bills John slides from the car on to the sidewalk as Sherlock scans the names on the wall.

"Van Coon." He points out the name.

Looking over Sherlock's shoulder John sees the condo is on the fifth floor. "We can always call the manager.” He suggests.

The other man shakes his head. “This flat just below Van Coon’s has a new resident so she won’t know us.” Sherlock says pointing out the white paper taped to the nameplate.

“Maybe they just haven’t got a name plate yet.” John says but Sherlock just ignores him and pushes the button.

A few seconds pass before someone answers; “Hello?” A very timid sounding woman’s voice asks.

“Yea hi,” Sherlock returns with a voice very unlike his own, “I don’t believe we’ve met I live in the flat above yours.”

The voice is silent before speaking; “Oh yes? I just moved in.”

Sherlock glances at John with an ‘I told you so’ look. “Well it seems I’ve locked myself out and I was hoping you could buzz me in.”

“Of course not a problem.” The woman replies.

The door buzzes loudly before popping open slightly.

“Thank you so much.” Sherlock says his voice returning to normal.

“Now what?” John asks catching hold of the door and pulling it open.

Sherlock moves inside followed closely by the doctor. “Now we pay Edward Van Coon a visit.” He answers.

“And if the man isn’t home?” John presses.

Sherlock huffs looking at him. “Then we’ll invite ourselves in.” He answer curtly.

John glares but follows knowing the man will have everything figured out without a problem. Taking the lift they reach the fifth floor in seconds. The hall is empty and grey tones. It seems like a very organized and dreary place, even worse than John’s old bedsit.

Stepping out of the lift John’s stomach turns sour and it takes everything to keep his stomach contents in place. He's really getting tried of this feeling. 

“John?” Sherlock asks as the doctor plants a hand on the wall to keep himself standing.

“Something isn’t right.” John explains through gritted teeth. With effort he straightens up ignoring Sherlock's questioning and moves down the hall. The closer he gets to the flat the worse he feels but he keeps his composure.

Sherlock gives him a concerned look but crouches down and pulls out something from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” John asks watching as the man pulls out some strange looking tools.

“How did you expect us to get in?” Sherlock points out as he works on getting the door open.

John huffs and leans against the wall ignoring how sick he is feeling. It only takes about a minute for the door to pop open, pushing himself up he follows Sherlock into the flat.

The flat is expensive and open. High windows show everything outside including a wide balcony. John looks around noting the extremely modern furnishings and the lack of personality. “Was Edward a robot or something?” He asks.

Sherlock doesn’t answer as he moves around the room examining everything.

John sighs and wanders aimlessly around until he comes to closed double doors. Grabbing the handles he finds them locked and his sick stomach finally settles. “Sherlock.” He calls shaking the locked door.

The taller man appears at his side in an instant and uses his tools to unlock the doors.

Edward Van Coon is laid across the bed with his legs dangling over the side. His hand grips a gun and there is a fresh bullet wound to his right temple.

“Dead.” John confirms without really needing to.

Sherlock moves forward and leans over the body.

The doctor is irritated by being ignored but lets it pass as he moves back into the living room. Quickly he calls for police and waits. John doesn’t know what to do exactly and feels silly just standing around doing nothing.

Glancing back at Sherlock, John sees his still lost in examining the body. Sighing John looks back at the living room and moves on to the kitchen. The room looks unused and empty. Going through the cupboards and fridge, only a carton of eggs, a quart of milk, and some bread. 

With that room cleared John moves back towards the bedroom and to the bathroom. The room is almost as empty as the kitchen and John is about to write it off when he notices the lotion on the counter and an extra toothbrush.

“Van Coon had a girlfriend.” John calls out.

Sherlock moves into the bathroom and looks over the other man’s shoulder.

Pulling gloves from his pocket John looks behind the shower curtain. He notes the lack of shower supplies. “It seems they weren’t very serious.” He tells Sherlock.

“Why would you make that assumption?” Sherlock asks.

John chuckles. “I know relationships, whoever she is, she has the bare minimum whatever she would need when she’s here.”

Sherlock glares. “Irrelevant.” He says moving away.

“Irrelevant? She should know that her boyfriend committed suicide.” John returns.

“He did not shoot himself.” Sherlock yells back sounding further away than the bedroom.

Curious the doctor moves back to the bedroom and finding the taller man out in the living room. “He’s holding a gun.” John points out.

Sherlock glares at him. “That does not prove that he killed himself, the gun was planted.”

“Why do you say that?” John asks looking over the body.

The other man huffs loudly. “Mr. Van Coon is left handed the wound is in his right temple so it would be rather difficult for him to shot himself on the right side meaning the gun was planted.” Sherlock says moving over to the corpse, “The wound as well comes from a gun of a larger caliber.” He adds pointing out the bullet wound.

John examines the wound a little closer. The entry wound is indeed larger than the bullets for the Glock 17 in Van Coon’s hand. “This wound is definitely a different caliber than that gun.” He agrees.

Sherlock makes an irritated noise and moves away towards an open suitcase on the floor. “There was something large packed in here.” He comments moving clothes about.

They don’t get any more time to look around when the police show up. John expects Detective Inspector Lestrade to show up but he doesn’t. The Detective Inspector in charge is a smaller man and much younger.

Sherlock groans upon seeing the man. “Sergeant Dimmock what a pleasant surprise.”

The small man frowns, “Detective Inspector actually and I hope you haven’t tampered with evidence Mr. Holmes.”

“I don’t tamper,” Sherlock says in defense, “Where is Lestrade?” He turns an accusing eye at John.

“I called him.” John tells him.

“Yes well he is busy and I was asked to take this case,” Dimmock snaps, "now my forensic team is going to examine the body then you can have your time with it."

Sherlock doesn't look happy but complies by pouting for the next half hour. John leans against the wall nearby watching as the men work.

"Suicide." Dimmock says coming towards them.

"No." Sherlock returns curtly.

The detective glares, "suicide is the only possible answer." He argues.

John steps in before another murder occurs. "Van Coon is left handed." He tells him.

"You can't prove that." Dimmock snaps.

Sherlock barks out a dry laugh. "Look around the evidence is for all to see,” He strides over to the coffee table in the living room, “Everything is situated on the left.” Sherlock points things out. “The note pad by the phone is on the left so Van Coon could write while on the phone.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.” The Detective repeats.

“On top of that,” John interrupts gesturing towards the body, “The wound in the forehead won’t match the bullets from the gun and a quick swab will tell you that that gun hasn’t been fired in a while if at all.”

Dimmock still doesn’t look convinced. “Thank you gentlemen but I don’t think your services will be required any further for this investigation.” He tells them with somewhat of a smug look.

“Investigation? You wouldn’t even have found the body without my help and now you’re ignoring all the facts. Edward Van Coon was murdered!” Sherlock argues.

The Detective Inspector comes back with another comment but John isn’t paying any attention. Something off about Van Coon’s face had confused him, carefully the doctor leans in closer to check for bruising or swelling. He doesn’t find anything. Slowly John puts pressure on the jaw forcing the mouth open, inside is something paper and black.

“Sherlock, do you have tweezers?” John asks keeping his eyes on the thing. The voices around him cease and a pair of tweezers end up in his hand. Carefully he extracts the paper, it looks like an origami flower made out of black paper.

"What is that?" Dimmock asks.

John shrugs and waits for an evidence bag to drop it in.

"Now you'll give us a call when you confirm its murder and we'll continue our investigation." Sherlock says sweeping from the flat with John close behind.


	16. Not a Suicide

Sherlock calls Sebastian’s office only to find that the man is in a meeting at some restaurant through protest from John they end up in said restaurant. Sebastian is sitting at a circular table surrounded by a number of people and they are talking in hushed voices.

Sherlock doesn’t pause as he strides for the table, “Edward Van Coon is dead.” He says without hesitation

Sebastian turns with a surprised look, “Excuse me? Mr. Holmes I am in a meeting.”

“I don’t think this can wait,” Sherlock says, “One of your traders is dead, murdered.”

Sebastian’s face becomes green and he looks slightly sick. “What?”

“Van Coon, the police are at his flat now.” John pipes in.

The sick looking man clear his throat and glances at the others at his table. “Could we discuss this later perhaps you could set up an appointment with my secretary?” He tries.

Sherlock frowns. “Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. How about an appointment at Scotland Yard?” He suggests.

“Fine.” Sebastian huffs standing up. He excuses himself from his meeting and leads the other two over to the men’s room.

“Tell me about Van Coon.” Sherlock says as soon as the door closes.

Sebastian starts washing his hands. “Graduated from Oxford, he was a very bright man. He worked in Asia for a while so I gave him the Hong Kong accounts. Eddie had this nag for making money, nerves of steel.”

“Who’d want to kill him?” John asks.

Sebastian dries his hands. “We all make enemies."

John snorts. “You don’t all end up with bullets in your brain.”

Sebastian’s phone beeps, “Not usually, excuse me.” He says pulling the device from his pocket. He’s quiet for a moment as he reads the message, “That’s one of the chairmen, it seems the police have been on him and they’re saying it was a suicide.”

“That’s wrong,” Sherlock argues, “Van Coon was murdered.”

Sebastian shrugs as he texts. “They don’t see it that way so do the job I hired you for and don’t get side tracked.” He says before leaving the room.

“Wanker.” John growls under his breath.

Sherlock smiles at him.


	17. What’s This?

They return to 221b and John feels exhausted, wanting nothing more than to pass out for a few hours.

"John." Sherlock calls stopping the doctor.

John turns to the man expecting some genius fact or statement. Though Sherlock looks almost reluctant about something.

"I believe it is required of me to apologize to you." He says slowly.

John frowns uncertainly. "Apologize?" He asks.

The man huffs. "Earlier I allowed my past emotions to react and may have overreacted." Sherlock explains shifting.

John blinks slowly. “I just wanted to know why you would take a case from someone who had hurt you.” He says.

“Yes,” Sherlock nods, “It doesn’t seem rational but I needed to do this. I...can’t explain it.” He looks so annoyed as he finishes.

The doctor has never seen his flat mate look so distraught before. “Sherlock it’s fine really, if you need to do this I’ll help you, you don't need to explain yourself.”

Sherlock looks hard at him for a while seeming to be trying to figure something out. John just smiles and begins to proceed up the stairs to his room.

“You know John,” The other man calls stopping John, “You continue to surprise me.”

The doctor’s smile grows.

“I’m impressed.” Sherlock adds with his own smile.

John can’t get the grin off his face as he gets ready for bed. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way but he doesn't really understand that Sherlock being proud of him is so important until now.

Afghanistan had been a fulfilling part of his life but now living a semi-simple existence while chasing after criminals not only replaced that life but he now couldn’t imagine doing anything else. What his life had become was something very dangerous all over again but with a perfect balance with his shifts at the clinic. All in all John is happy.

Those months when he first came home had been lonely and miserable now John barely remembers that time in his life.

Settling into bed John pushes those thoughts away, 221B is home now and he’s never felt like that anywhere else.

Relaxing John nestles in and closes his eyes sending him directly into a dream.

_He’s staring at books on shelf like at any library. He feels fear as his eyes notice something yellow peeking out from behind the line. Shaking hands pull the books apart revealing a freshly painted yellow symbol, the bleeding neon pigment sends fresh terror through him._

John wakes with that horror coursing in his veins as if it were his own. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, John had definitely felt someone else’s fear about the symbol and that most likely meant another death was about to occur.

Closing his eyes John focused on the vision seeking out anything that would tell him anything about the man. There was nothing from the dream, Sherlock would have noticed something but John’s average brain only felt regret and confusion.

Sadly there is nothing John can do, without more information there is no way to even attempt to spare the man’s life, hopeful his death will reveal whatever is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's starting to feel something but we all know that he's been feeling things from the start.


	18. I’m Not Saying I Told You So

The next morning John comes down the stairs, yawning and scratching his head. With a towel over his shoulder, John plans on taking a shower when Sherlock’s voice from the living room stops him; “I said, “Could you pass me a pen?”

“When?” John asks through a yawn.

“About an hour ago.” Sherlock answers.

John chuckles, setting his towel on the table he moves into the living room, and picks up a pen. “Didn’t notice I wasn’t here then.” He tosses it in Sherlock’s direction.

Leaving the other man, John goes to take that shower. After he proceeds to make breakfast for the two of them. “Sherlock come eat.” John calls setting out toast with jam and eggs on the table.

Sherlock comes in carrying John’s laptop. “Take a look at this.” He says sitting down and turning the screen towards the doctor.

“You know you do have your own laptop,” John scolds glancing at the man next to him.

“It was in the bedroom,” Sherlock says, “but look.” He points at the screen.

John sighs but starts reading the online article describing a man, by the name of Brian Lukis, murdered by an intruder that can walk through walls. Lukis’ flat was on the fourth floor and all his doors and windows had been locked with no signs of forced entry. “‘Intruder that can walk through walls?’” John asks.

“Everything locked up tight just like Van Coon’s and the office building.” Sherlock says with excitement, “A journalist shot dead in his flat last night.”

“You think it’s the same killer?” John asks.

Sherlock smirks taking the laptop back. “It would appear so.”

After breakfast, the two set out for Scotland Yard.

John sits in the cab next to Sherlock thinking over the dead journalist and the Hong Kong trader. If they had indeed been killed by the same person they had to have something in common so if Sherlock were able to find that connection, they would find the murderer.

Even if they could find whoever killed them, John felt like this is something bigger and it isn’t some simple killer. There is more to the whole thing and he feels dread for what is going to happen next.

Sherlock remains silent throughout the ride, typing away on his phone until they stop in front of the building.

They make their way up to Dimmock’s office where the man is sitting at his desk looking at something on his computer.

“Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat and all the doors and windows were locked.” Sherlock announces as he sits down.

Dimmock glares, “Yes, boys go ahead and sit down.”

“Both Van Coon and Lukis were murder in a similar fashion.” John adds, “By a killer that can...walk through walls.”

“Inspector, you can’t seriously believe that Van Coon was another suicide?” Sherlock asks, “You have seen the ballistics report?”

Dimmock pointedly looks away.

Sherlock catches it and narrows his eyes. “The bullet that killed Van Coon, was it from his gun?” He asks.

The Inspector sighs heavily. “No, it wasn’t.”

Sherlock smirks at John. “Now it seems that from now on you shouldn’t question me so things can move a little faster,” he stands, “We’ll be going over to Lukis’ flat to find what has been missed.” Without another word he strides from the office followed closely by John.


	19. A Trip to the Library

Ducking under the police tape the two men enter the flat. Stairs leading from the front door up to the living room are covered with books. Sherlock pauses to glance at the titles going up the stairs. “Have you read any of Lukis’ articles?” He asks.

John shrugs. “None that I remember.”

“There’s a lot of travel books, “Sherlock points out continuing up the stairs. At the top he picks up one that had been haphazardly placed on a pile, he flips to the front. “This one was checked out last night.” He passes it to John.

“West Kensington Library,” the doctor reads, “if this is the same person who killed Van Coon then Lukis’ must have gotten a message as well.” His mind flashes back to the dream and knowing exactly what they will find.

“Possible.” Sherlock agrees moving on into the flat. He moves towards a window and glances down. “Four floors up, that’s why they think they’re safe. Chain the door and bolt it; they think it’s impregnatable.”

John looks too. “It’s pretty sound thinking.”

Sherlock smirks. “They don’t think for second that there is another way in.” He heads towards another staircase, “We’re dealing with a killer who can climb.” Going up two stairs Sherlock steps up on a stool next to an angled skylight in the ceiling. He pushes on the window and it pops open easily. “This is how he got in. He clings to the wall like an insect.” He says.

John moves closer and looks out. “If this man can climb over forty stories I bet this was nothing to him.”

“Whoever it is they are very skilled,” Sherlock says, “We still need to find how these two men are connected.”

Half an hour later the two are striding the West Kensington Library rows with Lukis’ book. Sherlock follows the stacks until he finds the numbers matching the reference numbers on his book. He begins removing books from the shelves and opening them.

John watches for moment before looking on the other shelf with a sense of Deja vu within a second he spots the yellow symbols peeking out from behind some books directly across from Sherlock just as Lukis had seen them. “Sherlock.” He calls moving the books aside.

Sherlock moves closer and looks over John’s shoulder. “Definitely the same murderer.” He breaths right into John’s ear.


	20. Deciphering a Cypher

With the new information in hand the men return to 22lB. Sherlock is lying on the couch staring up at the pictures.

“So the killer goes to the bank, leaves the threatening message for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his flat, and locks himself in.” John summarizes.

“Hours later he dies.” Sherlock finishes.

“Next the killer finds Lukis at the library and leaves the cypher where he knows it will be found; Lukis goes home.” John says.

Sherlock stands up, leaning close to the pictures. “Late that night he dies.”

John sighs. “Why did they die Sherlock?” He asks.

Sherlock glances at the man. “Only the cypher can tell us.” He looks back at the pictures, his fingers trace over the symbols.

John contemplates a cuppa but is startled when Sherlock makes a noise. “What?” He asks.

Sherlock is across the room pulling on his shoes and jacket quickly. “We need to go somewhere.”

John doesn’t question it as he follows. He had always been a man of action anyway. He falls in behind Sherlock as they grab a cab and speeds off through the city.

The car stops at the National Gallery and they get out.

“The world runs on codes and cyphers John, from the million pound security system at the bank to the pin machine at the store, cryptography inhabits our every waking minute.” Sherlock tells him as they walks towards the massive building.

“Yes and?” John asks.

Sherlock doesn't acknowledge the interruption as he continues; “but those are all electronically run, what we’re dealing with is an ancient code something used before electricity. Modern code breaking won’t unravel this.” He says.

“Where are we going?” John asks.

“I need advice.” The other man replies.

John stumbles. “Excuse me?”

Sherlock glares at him. “I’m not repeating myself.”

The doctor grins. “You need advice?”

Sherlock nods. “On painting, I need to talk to an expert.”

John follows expecting to go inside the gallery only to be surprised when Sherlock veers towards the side of the building.

Garbage bins line the building and graffiti cover the walls. Further ahead a young man is finishing up on his own piece. He barely glances at the two as he adds the last details

“It’s a part of the new exhibit.” He says.

Sherlock scans the wall but shows little interest. “Interesting.”

The young man beams clearly missing the sarcasm. “I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.” He tells them stepping back and flipping the can.

John examines the painting but doesn’t see how the title pertains to the image though he’s not much for modern art. “Catchy.” He says.

Moving back to the wall the man sprays a few more things. “You’ve got two minutes before Community Support Officers come around that corner.” He tells them.

“Recognize the author.” Sherlock asks holding out the phone to the young man.

Sighing he turns from his piece and tosses John his spray can before grabbing Sherlock’s phone. The man skims through the images on the phone. “The paints Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.”

“What about the symbols, do you know them?” Sherlock presses.

The man squints at the pictures. “Not even sure that’s a proper language.”

Sherlock sighs taking his phone back. “Two men have been murdered Raz, deciphering this is the key to finding the killer.”

“What and this is all you’ve got to go on?” Raz snickers.

Sherlock glares at the youth.

Raz shrugs. “I’ll ask around.”

John suddenly drops the spray can into Raz’s bag as pain zings through his hand and something is telling him to leave. Slowly he starts backing away from the others without their notice.

“Someone has to know something.” Sherlock says.

“Oi!” Someone yells behind them. Two support officers are running towards the men. John leans forward and grips Sherlock’s coat, pulling him away from Raz.

The officers call out behind them but John doesn’t stop, he keeps a hand firmly on Sherlock’s coat and somehow keeps pace with the other man even with his shorter legs. They run without stopping until they are several blocks away from the Gallery.

John leans back against a wall panting heavily.

“I’m glad you were able to keep up.” Sherlock pants leaning next to John.

“Glad you slowed down to let me keep up.” John laughs and keeps laughing until they’re both leaning into the wall nearly wheezing.

“That was ridiculous, the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”  The doctor chuckles.

“And you invaded Afghanistan.” Sherlock points out with his own chuckle.

John snorts, “That wasn’t just me.” He protests laughing harder.

Slowly they are able to compose themselves. It’s nearly nightfall and people are heading home so the streets are thickening with traffic and bustle of people.

“Now what?” John asks

Sherlock catches his breath and glances around. “I don’t suppose we’ll be able to do anymore this late at night so it seems going home is our only option.” He replies.


	21. Arch Enemy

After a short cab ride the two are climbing the stairs to the flat. John still feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins and knows it’s going to be a long night before he’ll be able to get any sleep.

“You haven’t been using your cane lately.” Sherlock points out as they hang up their coats.

John blinks in surprise and looks down at his empty hand, indeed the plastic nuisance wasn’t anywhere near him. “Well would you look at that.” He says smiling. His leg feels fine, there isn’t even a hint of the pain he had endured. “It was psychosomatic anyway.” He reminds the other man.

Sherlock smirks, “Obviously.”

John snorts and kicks off his shoes. “You knew this would happen.” He accuses.

“I’m not the one who can see the future John.” The tall man points out.

"Well you don’t need to since you already have your own superpower.” John teases.

Sherlock looks confused and maybe even a little offended. “Superpowers? Please John, I don’t indulge in such fantasies and I suggest you don’t either.” He chides.

John laughs. “For those with a normal brain you very nearly have a superpower. I can’t look at someone and tell you what they had for breakfast.”

“I don’t do that,” Sherlock protests, “Besides if anyone has a superpower it would be you. I cannot predict the future.”

John nudges the other man gently. “No I just have an abnormal brain, most of the time I’m an idiot.” He tells him getting an answering laugh.

“Well if it makes you feel any better you do show excellent potential.” Sherlock says.

John is stunned by the compliment and stares at the man a moment. “Umm...thank you.” He says uncertainty.

Sherlock glances at him, “No, no it wasn’t a compliment it was an observation. You have potential but will very reach my integrity.” He corrects.

The doctor can’t help but laugh. “I’m going to pick up some takeaway, how’s Thai sound?” He asks as he pulls his jacket and shoes back on.

“I’m on a case I won’t be eating.” Sherlock replies.

John ignores that. “I’ll get you some Som Tam and Kao Phad I know you like those.” He calls on his way out the door.

“I won’t eat it!” Sherlock yells.

The night outside is chilled suggesting an early autumn, John’s shoulder throbs at the idea. Cold, damp weather isn’t ideal for John’s ageing joints but he will take care of it when the time comes. He isn’t too old yet.

The streets are nearly deserted and even the clubs and pubs seem vacant though they did have their slow days. John pulls his jacket tighter around him. The feeling that someone is watching him is making his skin crawl but he can’t see anything when he looks around.

Making his steps a bit longer John focuses on the Thai restaurant that sits on the corner near Baker Street. The bright neon’s stand out and John almost feels relief as he draws closer.

Suddenly the pay phone he’s about to pass starts ringing and John gets a flashback from so many movies. Payphone don’t normally ring so of course it would a plot device and now here John is about to star in his own action packed adventure.

Slowly John answers the thing forcing his ridiculous thoughts back. “Hello?” He asks.

“There is a security camera on your left, do you see it?” A man’s voice on the phone asks.

John glances up at the camera. “Who is this?”

The voice ignores him, “Do you see the camera Doctor Watson?”

Hearing his name John feels the intensity of the moment increase. “Yes, bloody yes I see it.” He answers.

“Watch.” The voice commands.

John looks at the camera and watches it rotate away from him. It’s a CCTV camera that had been focused on the phone booth. “How are you doing that?” He questions.

“Now on the building across from you.” The voice says ignoring him once again.

John looks and the camera turns away from him.

“Get into the car Doctor,” The voice commands, “I could make some sort of threat but I think you already know the situation.” The call dies and a black sedan pulls up next to John.

The doctor hangs up the phone and curses himself for leaving his gun at home. Seeing no other choice he opens the door and gets into the car. He barely gets the door shut before the vehicle is moving.

John isn’t alone in the back of the car; a very attractive young woman is beside him typing away on a blackberry completely ignoring him. He stares at her for a few minutes and concludes she wasn’t the voice on the phone.

“Hello.” He says keeping his voice light and friendly.

The woman doesn’t respond for a few moment before glancing at him briefly only to return her gaze to her phone. “Hi.”

“What your name then?” He asks.

Another few seconds pass before she answers; “Umm...Anthea” Clearly fake.

John looks out the back window. “I’m John.” He tells her lamely.

“Yes, I know.” She says smiling at him.

“Any chance in you telling me where we’re going?” John tries already knowing the answer.

Anthea laughs lightly and doesn’t even bother to look at him this time. “No.”

“Thought so.” He sighs settling into the back of the car.

It doesn’t take them long to reach a secluded part of the city. John knows there is something going on here and it most likely had to do with Sherlock but he doesn't feel like he is in danger even if the voice on the phone conveyed such. Finally stopping John is told to enter the building that he is expected. Curiosity drives the doctor onward and into a large, empty hanger.

Inside a tall man in an expensive, dark suit is waiting, leaning on a rather long umbrella. “Have a seat, John.” the man gestures with the umbrella at a chair directly in front of him.

“You know I have a phone,” John says, “You could have called me on it, my phone.” He passes the chair and stops feet from the other man.

The tall man smiles, “When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, discretion is key, hence this place.” He nods at the building around them. “Your leg must be hurting you, why do you sit?” The man tries again.

“I’m fine thanks.” John says lightly.

The man eyes him with curiosity. “You don’t seem very afraid.”

“You don’t seem very frightening.” John retorts.

The other man chuckles. “The bravery of a soldier, bravery being a far kinder word for stupid, don’t you think?”

John bristles just a bit at the jab

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” The man asks sternly.

The doctor blinks at the new pace of things. “I share the rent.” He answers. No need to dance around with lies. If the man could access the cities cameras surely he already knew everything about John.

“You’ve known him a few short months and you’ve solved crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement soon?” The man asks.

John doesn’t even bother anymore, too many people assumed he and Sherlock were in a relationship that it didn’t even matter what the doctor said. “Who are you?” He demands.

“An interested party.” The man replies examining his nails lazily.

John narrows his eyes. “Interested, why? I’m guessing you’re not friends.” He questions.

The tall man laughed quietly, looking back at the doctor. “You’ve met him, how many friends’ do you imagine he has? I’m the closest thing to a friend Sherlock is capable of having.” He says.

“And what’s that?” John presses.

“An enemy.” Comes the light answer.

The doctor scoffs. “An enemy?”

“If you were to ask him, he’s probably say his arch-enemy, he does like to be dramatic. The tall man says.

John chuckles. “Thank god you’re above that.” He pointedly looks around the warehouse.

The other man frowns clearly missing the gesture.

John’s phones pings with a new message. Pulling it out and ignoring the man in front of him, John reads the text;

**Baker Street**

**Come at once**

**If convenient -SH**

“I hope I'm not distracting you.” The man interrupts with a knowing smile, clearly guessing who the text is from.

“Not at all.” John says pocketing the device.

The man steps a bit closer. “Do you plan on continuing your association with Sherlock Holmes?” He asks staring John down.

John glares. “I could be wrong but I think that’s none of your business.” He says.

The man smirks. “It could be.”

“No it really couldn’t.” John counters.

“If you do continue your residency, I’d be happy to pay you a generous sum on a regular basis to ease your way.” The man says pulling out a notebook and writing something before returning it to his pocket.

“Why?” John asks out of curiosity.

“Because you are not a wealthy man.” The man supplies.

John studies him for moment not even considering the bribe but wanting to know who this man is to Sherlock. “In exchange for?” He asks.

The man shrugs nonchalantly. “Information, nothing indiscreet, and nothing you would be uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.” He replies.

John is almost willing for a vision so he doesn’t feel so out of the loop. “Why?” He questions.

The tall man sighs. “I worry about him, constantly.”

“That’s nice of you.” John says as his phone goes off again. Retrieving it he reads the message:

**If inconvenient**

**Come anyway-SH**

John had been ignoring the man while reading the text and almost missed when he had begun speaking again; “We have what you would call a difficult relationship, so I would prefer if my concerns went unmentioned.”

“No.” John says. He had planned on saying it from the beginning but he needed to know what this man was about.

The tall man stops. “But I haven’t mentioned a figure.” He protests clearly use to getting his way.

John shrugs. “Don’t bother, no.” He tells him firmly.

The man looks hard at him for a long, drawn out minute before pulling the notebook from his jacket and flipping through the pages. “‘Trust issues’, it says here.” Gesturing at the page.

John’s stomach drops. He had read that from his therapist's notes some weeks before moving in with Sherlock. “Are we done?” He demands.

The tall man smiles staring at John, “You tell me.”

Without needing to say anything else John spins on his feet and starts for the entrance.

“Most people blunder around the city and all they see are streets, shops, and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield, you’ve seen it already.” The man calls stopping John.

The doctor wants to keep walking but he’s drawn back to the other man.

“May I?” He asks gesturing at John’s left hand.

The doctor waits several beats before holding out his hand but keeping his distance making it so the man will have to come to him.

The tall man doesn’t hesitate in striding forward reaching for the hand.

John jerks back at the last minute. “Don’t.” He breaths.

The man raises an eyebrow at him until the doctor lowers his hand again. John expects a vision and even clenches for a second but nothing happens when smooth skin brushes his, it confuses him.

Gently the man cups his hand and looks at it closely. “You have an intermittent tremor in your hand,” The man telling John something he already knows, “Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress, she’s wrong, you’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.”

John pulls his hand back and glares.

“You’re not haunted by the war Doctor, you miss it,” The man says with drama, “Welcome back.”

John doesn’t wait a minute longer to turn away from the man, hurrying for the door, he wanted to get home and away from whoever that was.


	22. The Other Holmes

John doesn’t speak to Anthea the whole way back to Baker Street, she ignores him and he doesn’t care. Normally he might try getting a date but something tells him he’d have an easier time with a lamp post. He quickly exits the car and into 221B.

Taking the stairs two at a time John bursts in to see Sherlock lying on the couch with a least five nicotine patches on his arm, supposedly the stuff helped the man think.

“You know you can overdose on those.” John says taking off his jacket.

Sherlock sighs rolls his eyes to look at him. “Thai?"

Briefly confused John huffs in irritation. “Sorry I was on my way to get it…” He stops and moves over to the windows to glance out and shutting the blinds.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asks.

John makes sure all the blinds are closed hoping that would keep them a bit more secured. “I just met a friend of yours.” He tells him.

The other man looks hard at him with confusion. “Friend?” He sounds offended at even being paired with the word.

“An enemy.” John corrects and watches Sherlock relax.

“Oh which one?” He asks.

John stares not surprised that he had more than one enemy. “He says your ‘arch-enemy’, do people have arch-enemies?”

Sherlock glares at him suspiciously, “Did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take it?”

“No.”

Sherlock sighs. “Pity we could have spit it, think it through next time.”

The doctor chuckles lightly. “Who is he?”

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met and not my problem right now.” Sherlock replies.

With that John receives his vision:

_A very young Sherlock is pouting with his lower lip stuck out and his arms folded across his chest tightly. His head is bowed obviously throwing a tantrum. Even as a child Sherlock is gangly._

_“Oh stop that Sherlock.” A voice speaks mirroring the one from the man at the warehouse._

_The young Sherlock lifts his head to glare. “Why do you have to go?” He whines._

_A younger version of the man from the warehouse moves in and crouches next to Sherlock. “Because it’s time for me to go back to school,” He replies wiping at the tears trailing down Sherlock’s face, “I’ll be back in the summer, promise.”_

_Sherlock pulls away from the man. “It’s not fair!” He yells stomping his foot._

_The young man sighs heavily before standing up. “I know Sherlock and I’m sorry.” He turns a leaves._

_Sherlock glares after him, “I hate you Mycroft!” He screams._

“He’s your brother!” John exclaims as soon as he’s out of the vision.

“Unfortunately we do share similar DNA,” Sherlock sighs, “What did you see?”

John watches Sherlock knowing he had probably never truly understand the man completely. “The day he left for University.” He answers.

Sherlock nods, “I was ten and didn’t really understand why he had to leave, I grew resentful.”

“You still feel this way?” John asks.

Sherlock scoffs. “Yes but not because of that, something have happened in my life that he has interfered with and the resentment has grown.” He explain

“Well next time he should stop by for a visit instead of abducting people.” John mutters.

“If he visits he just nags, whines about his latest diet, and blames me.” Sherlock groans into the side of the couch.

John chuckles, “Siblings.” He says thinking about his own sister and the last time he spoke with her.

Sherlock looks at him. “Yes we both have disappointing siblings.” He agrees.

They sit in silence for a moment before Sherlock’s stomach growls loudly. The man looks at the offender with a glare at being betrayed.

John laughs, “I’ll call for takeaway.” He tells him and gets up to find his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't really hate Mycroft it's just sibling rivalry and old pains.


	23. Unfortunate Past

_Everything is dark, the dank smell of dirt and the pungent odor of raw sewage permeates the air. A beautiful starry sky shines overhead almost overpowering the stench. The sound of the city is a distant echo and the nearest light is far away. It would be a perfect place if not for the smell._

_Sherlock doesn’t mind, he hadn’t come here for the sight nor the smell, it was secluded. Maybe just maybe he wouldn’t be found here._

_The sound of muffled steps goes unnoticed as Sherlock relaxes against a wall staring up at the sky and his mind begins to drift. The world becomes a blur and noise dulls to nothing. It’s quiet, finally quiet. His brain isn’t speeding along anymore but slowing down to analyze._

_“Sherlock Holmes?” A voice breaks in but wavers precariously._

_Sherlock’s face is flooded with light and he’s blinded by the speaker. “Go away.” He whines or tries but his mouth doesn’t want to cooperate._

_“Sir we found him.” The voice says._

_Sherlock doesn’t know who the man is talking to but right now he doesn’t particularly care._

John wakes to stare at the ceiling. He had just seen a bit of Sherlock’s past and it made sense why Mycroft is worried about his brother’s movements. John is a doctor and had seen a lot of people overdosing and addictions, How had he missed Sherlock’s?

The man showed signs of addict. Sherlock forced himself to focus on cases he thought were important, he used other means to distract himself when there wasn’t a case, there were stashes of half empty cigarette cartons, and he kept to himself pushing others away.

John will just have to do his best and just keep an eye on Sherlock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear John was having a dream about Sherlock past drug use.


	24. Following Trails

The next morning after dressing, eating, and being manhandled into his coat John goes to Scotland Yard while Sherlock heads back to the bank to talk to Van Coon’s P.A.

Sherlock had told John to find Lukis’ journal and find out where Lukis had been the last few weeks and that he must have met up with Van Coon sometime.

Finding the journal had been easy, as well as finding the place Lukis had been on the day Van Coon had died, he took a cab to Piccadilly follow the address in the journal. Nearing the location John passed by an espresso bar and rammed into someone.

“Sorry mate.” He almost says when he notices it’s Sherlock he had run into.

Sherlock barely glances at him before relaying his information; “Van Coon brought a package here the day he died.”

“Sherlock. “John tries but the man keeps talking.

“The bills and receipts lead to somewhere around here. He flew back from China and came here.” Sherlock says quickly.

“Sherlock.” The doctor says again not at all surprised when he’s ignored.

Sherlock is pacing in a short line in front of John, not really speaking to him, more like at him. “Somewhere nearby but I’m not exactly sure where…”

John grabs Sherlock forcing him to a halt. “That shop over there.” He says pointing across the street.

The other man glares at being treated as such but quickly morphs into a questioning look. “How can you tell?”

Turning the journal for Sherlock to read, “Lukis wrote the address down, he was here too.” John explains.

Sherlock glances at the words and up the street. “Good.” He says and starts off towards it.

The address leads them to a touristy shop in Chinatown, lines of decorative cats occupied the shelves with one paw waving back and forth. The small Asian woman back the counter smiles broadly at them.

John nods in greeting and begins looking around.

“You want lucky cat?” The shopkeeper asks, “ten pound, ten pound.”

“No, no thank you.” He says politely glancing as Sherlock scans the shelves.

“Your wife, she will like.” The woman presses holding up a large cat.

“No,” John says firmly. He moves over to a cabinet with tea cups and picks one up to read the price. The symbols from the painting stares back at him. “Sherlock.” John calls acting as though this is something he is interested in buying.

A moment passes before the taller man is at his side. Wordlessly John shows Sherlock the price tag.

“Exactly the same as the cypher.” He says happily. He grabs a couple of the cups and moves over to the counter. “These and a lucky cat please.” Sherlock tells the shopkeeper politely.

The woman beams at him, ringing the items in.

He pays and they leave. “It’s an ancient Chinese number system, Hangzhou. These days only street traders use it.” Sherlock pauses at a shop and grabs up the nearest thing. A symbol along with English. “Fifteen, one of the symbols is the number fifteen.”

John grabs something up as well, “One the other is the number one.”

“Good, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Sherlock says going into a restaurant across the street from the Lucky Cat shop.

John orders some food while the sit to discuss.

“They were smugglers, both made frequent trips to China. The Lucky Cat was the drop off.” Sherlock says.

John takes a bite. “But why did they die? I mean, it doesn’t make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods. Why were they threaten them and then kill them even after they finished the job?” He asks.

Sherlock smirks. “What if one of them was light-fingered?”

“What? Like they stole something?” John asks.

Sherlock nods. “The killer doesn’t know which one took it so he threatens them both.” He finishes staring out the window. His eyes narrow as he looks at the flat next to the Lucky Cat. “Remind me when the last time it rained was?” Without waiting for the answer Sherlock gets up and leaves.

John stuffs one last bite in before following. When he catches up Sherlock is picking up the phonebook outside the flat. “It’s been here since Monday, no one has been in this flat for three days.”

John shrugs. “Could have gone on holiday.” He suggests.

Sherlock glances up. “Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?” He says moving around to the alley.

John follows.

Sherlock takes a running jump to catch the fire escape to pull it down.

“Sherlock.” John says a little exasperated.

He’s ignored as the man climbs up leaving John behind and climbs into the open window. The doctor watches until the man disappears. Muttering moves back around to the front of the flat. “Do you think you can let me in?” He calls through the mail slot.

There’s no reply.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” John tries again. This time hearing a muffled response, He’s strains his ears but can’t make out any of the words.

“Sherlock.” He yells. Touching the door his vision whitens and the scene changes.

_Sherlock is standing in a room, looking at a dressing screen, eyeing it suspiciously. Slowly he creeps forward, hand outstretched, and pulls the screen away revealing nothing. He has a moment of confusion before something wraps around his neck._

_Reeling backwards Sherlock attempts to dislodge the attacker but whoever it is, is strong and tightens his hold._

_“John! John!” Sherlock rasps. He pulls at the material wrapped around his neck but it’s no use. He struggles but as he weakens Sherlock falls to his knees then to the floor with the assailant still throttling him._

_Nearly unconscious Sherlock feels the pressure released but it takes him a moment to breathe properly. Laying on the ground vulnerable he feels something shoved into his pocket and hears feet moving away from him._

The vision fades and John blinks to clear it. “Sherlock?” He calls before realizing his friend is in danger. “Sherlock!” He screams pounding on the door but the wood is thick and doesn’t even splinter.

“Sherlock!” He yells and the door opens.

Sherlock looks battered, “The milk's gone off and the washing’s starting to smell. Somebody left here is a hurry three days ago.” He wheezes.

“Soo Lin Yao?” John asks. He wants to bring attention to the fact Sherlock had almost been strangled but leaves it for later.

Sherlock bends over and picks up a not that had been slid under the door. “We have to find her.”

“How exactly?” John asks.

Sherlock shows him an envelope, “could start here?”

John reads; **National Antiquities Museum.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and so I don't forget to give kudos and a thank you to Ariane DeVere for the LiveJournal Sherlock transcript that I used heavily for this fic. http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/45111.html


	25. Words on a Wall

At the museum they meet up with one of Soo Lin’s co-workers, Andy. He tells them Soo Lin had indeed left three days earlier but didn’t believe she would just up and leave. She had been working on restoring ancient Chinese tea pots and doing traditional tea ceremonies.

Andy shows down to the basement where the work would be put away at the end of the day. Instead they find a statue with the warning message sprayed on it.

Upon leaving the museum Raz finds them and leads them to a hidden skate area in the undercroft, the underworld of London, where graffiti covers a majority of the walls, the symbols peek out from the other splashes of color.

The two leave Raz behind as they split up to look for more evidence of the painted symbols.

John finds himself wandering down some railroad tracks alone, in the dark with only his flashlight to see by. His progress is slow but he can’t even remember the last time he slept or even the last thing he ate. John isn’t as focused as he should be but so far he had come up with nothing and knowing Sherlock they were going to be out there out all night until they found something or passed out.

John is on the verge of calling it quits and just calling himself a cab but he knew he couldn’t leave without Sherlock. Sighing he pulls his jacket tighter and walks on. Passing a lone brick John flashes his light at it and stops to look at the multitude of symbols decorating the surface.

His entire being is flooded with relief and he stares at it as he phones Sherlock who doesn’t answer, nor does he answer the other times he tries. Frustrated John snaps a photo and proceeds to look for the annoying berk.

“Answer your phone,” John yells when he finally finds Sherlock, “I’ve been calling. I found it.”

Sherlock straights from his crouched position to follow after John.

Back at the wall John finds it strangely blank. He blinks several times just to be sure but it is indeed void of all symbols and yellow paint. In fact the wall looks as if it had never had anything on it at all.

“I don’t understand...it was here, ten minutes ago I saw it! A whole lot of graffiti.” John protests glancing at Sherlock.

Sherlock studies the wall a moment. “Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.” Suddenly he turns to John and grabs his face between his hands.

“Sherlock!” John protests.

“Shhh John,” Sherlock tells him, “I need you to concentrate, close your eyes.”

“What, why?” The doctor asks.

Sherlock lowers his hand to John’s shoulders.

John glances at them. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock ignores him and begins to spin them slowly, keeping eye contact with John the entire time. “I need to maximize your visual memory, can you picture what you saw?”

Thinking back to the picture he had taken John nods, “Yeah.”

Sherlock looks skeptical, “can you remember it?” He asks.

“Yes, definitely.” John replies trying to free his arms but Sherlock tightens his grip.

“How much can you remember?” Sherlock questions.

John frowns at him. “Well, don’t worry…” He tries but gets interrupted.

“Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate.” Sherlock tells him.

“I remember all of it.” He assures.

Sherlock gives him a disbelieving look, “Really?”

John pulls himself away from Sherlock, “At least I would if I could get to my pocket, and I took a picture.” He says getting his phone out. Quickly he pulls up the pictures of the wall and shows them to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock really enjoys touching John and getting close to John.


	26. Caring Doctor

With the new information they finally get home and Sherlock prints out the pictures and puts them on the wall with the rest of the evidence. The man is standing on the couch examining the photos closely. “Always in pairs John.” Sherlock says.

John who currently is propped up asleep in his chair. The symbols are whirling through his mind keeping in pairs. They morphed into numbers and then into page numbers in a book and the pages slowly began to turn.

“John, John!” Sherlock’s voice snaps him awake.

John sits up knocking some papers on to the floor. “What?” He mumbles looking around.

“He wants information from the people of the underworld that’s why the message was painted by the tracks,” Sherlock speaks out loud, “He wants whatever was stolen back.”

The doctor yawns and rubs at his eyes, “God I need to sleep.” He mutters running a hand through his mussed hair.

Sherlock peers closer to the pictures. “Somewhere there is a code, we can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.” He announces.

John glances over at the man. Sherlock usually is up to par at any time of the day but after many sleepless nights it’s beginning to show. His unruly curls are rioting and dark bags are hanging heavily below his bloodshot eyes. Slow throughout the day bruises had begun to form around Sherlock’s neck, his coat had done well in covering the evidence but without the heavy garment John could clearly see them. He stands, grabbing Sherlock’s attention, without speaking John moves closer and gestures for the other man to come closer. “Let me see.” He says nodding at the bruises.

Sherlock glares but obeys with a huff.

John steps into the other’s space and gently examines the bruises, noting any reaction no matter how minute.

“When did you notice?” Sherlock asks quietly, his face softening, letting the doctor work.

John releases his friend. “I had a vision of it but unfortunately I was stuck on the other side of the door when it occurred.” He says tersely.

Sherlock watches.

“There’s no permanent damage but it will have a nice bruise for about a week and a little pain.” John tells him with the most clinical tone he can.

The other man blinks with a confused look, “Not good?” He asks.

“A bit not good,” John replies, “You can’t do that to me Sherlock, what if he hadn’t let you live then I would have been stuck outside not knowing.”

“But I’m fine, he let me go.” Sherlock protests.

John turns away from him. “But what if he hadn’t?” He asks quelling the emotions threatening to overcome him.

“John we don’t work with what if’s, “Sherlock chides, “Our work is dangerous, everyday could be our last.”

John spins back towards him, “You think I don’t know that? That is not my point, I know what we do is dangerous but when you do something stupid when there’s another way is just asking to get killed. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” He shouts.

Sherlock stares at him.

“You put yourself in dangerous situations, I don’t want you to die when I might be the one to save your life. I’m your flat mate Sherlock but I’m also your friend I care if you live or die.” John tells him.

“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock says pulling away.

John glares hard at him before relaxing his features. “Right then I’m going to bed.” He manages to remain vacant as he turns and leaves the room.

He’s half up the stairs when Sherlock’s voice rings through his head calling to him. He’s not speaking out loud but John can still hear him. John pauses and senses the other man at the bottom of the stairs.

“You misunderstand,” Sherlock speaks quietly, “I don’t have friends John. I only have one.”

The doctor can’t help but look at the man.

Sherlock stands in the cramped space where normally he would look oversized but at the moment he looks vulnerable and uncertain. “You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.”

John cracks a smile, as far as apologies go that would be the best that came out of Sherlock. He goes the make some remark when he’s thrown into a vision.

_It’s a room he had seen at the Antiquities museum there were rows of tables with pieces on them. A young woman silently moves into the room, she’s shadowed mostly with only the sparse lighting from above. She moves cautiously, her eyes darting around wearily but she proceeds forward pausing at one of the tables with a teapot in hand._

John blinks and Sherlock is inches in front of him. It takes him a moment to catch up and focus on the man so close to him.

“John.” Sherlock asks gently leaning in, his eyes searching.

The doctor breathes out and collects his thoughts. “I know where Soo Lin Yao is.” He tells him.

Sherlock’s eyes light up with excitement. “Tell me in the cab.” He says turning and jumping down the stairs.

John chuckles and forgets how tired he is as he follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been said before but I must agree; that Sherlock's lack of respect for furniture is one of my favorites! This chapter was a little more feels and a few lines from series two thrown in, I enjoy fluff.


	27. Lost and Found then Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt that Soo Lin's part in The Blind Banker was a little blown out of proportion when she just died and nobody seemed too upset about it especially since John left her and she died. So I fixed it, John is naturally a caring person as well as a protector, Soo Lin's death hits John kind of hard.

They find Soo Lin in the museum in the exact manner as John’s vision. With little convincing they get her to sit down and speak with them.

“You’ve been clever.” Sherlock tells her pacing slightly while John sit nearby.

Soo Lin looks terrified as well as calm, it’s a bit unnerving. “I had to finish this work.” She says quietly her hand caressing one of the pots in front of her. Her eyes look at the men sharply. “You’ve seen the cypher so you know he is coming for me.”

“Who is?” John asks.

Soo Lin shutters, “Zhi Zhu.” She breaths wrapping her arms around herself.

The doctor glances at Sherlock in confusion. “The Spider.” The man translates.

The woman nods shakily and brings her foot up, pulling off her shoe to show them a tattoo. “You know this mark?” She asks.

“The mark of the Tong, ancient crime syndicate based in China.” Sherlock replies as an answer.

Soo Lin sighs heavily. “Every foot soldier bares the mark, everyone who hauls for them.” She tells them.

“Hauls?” John asks before it clicks, “You mean you were a smuggler?”

She puts her shoe back on, “I was fifteen and my parents were dead. My brother and I had no livelihood except to work for the bosses.”

Sherlock steps towards her. “Who are they?”

“They’re called the Black Lotus, I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England, I thought after five years they would have forgotten about me but they never let you leave, not really.” Soo Lin says quietly barely restraining her tears.

John watches her a moment. “What about your brother?”

The young woman looks at him and a few tears escape down her face, “He came looking for me, found me at my flat. He asked me to help him track down something that was stolen.”

“You don’t know what it is?” Sherlock asks.

“I refused to help. My brother had become their puppet in the power of the one called Shan, Black Lotus general,” Soo Lin says, her voice coming out in broken sobs, “I turned my brother away, he said I betrayed him. The next day I came to work the cypher was waiting.”

They sit in silence as Soo Lin tries to control herself. John feels a twinge of pity for the woman and the man who had once been her brother but now committed murders blindly following orders.

Sherlock pulls out the pictures of the symbols. “Can you decipher these?”

She glances over the pictures. “These are numbers.” Soo Lin tells him.

“Yes, but what’s the code?” He presses pushing at the pictures.

“This is a Chinese number one,” she indicates the slash across the portrait of William Shad, “and a number fifteen. All the smugglers know it, it’s based off a book…”

Suddenly most of the lights go out, leaving them in dimness.

“He’s here, Zhi Zhu, he’s found me.” Soo Lin whispers.

Without a word Sherlock races off into the darkness ignoring John’s calls. The doctor glares after the retreating man, angry about his departure but worried about the new threat.

“Come on.” John tells Soo Lin grabbing her hand and dragging her across the room to a closet. Going in he shuts it behind them and settles on the floor with her pressed to his side.

The small space is pitch and muffled, the only sound is their combined breathing and it sounds loud in the silence. John is straining his ears listening for anything that will indicate someone approaching. Instead the sound of gunshots can be heard.

John’s pulse jumps and he pushes himself up. “I have to go help, bolt the door behind me.” He tells her squeezing her hand as he goes.

John hurries through the dim light scarcely making a noise as he searches for Sherlock and the man with the gun. There are no more shots being fired which is good and bad, good meaning there aren’t any bullets flying and bad because that could mean someone is dead.

His hurried footsteps echo off the walls seeming to thunder out around him. John wants to call to Sherlock but he knows that will make him vulnerable and the man wouldn’t answer him anyway.

John doesn’t get much further when a single gunshot goes off but this time it is behind him. John feels a sharp pain just behind his ear that seers for a moment after the shot. It whitens his vision before it fades completely. Once he comes back to himself John understood what had happened, “God no.” He gasps and sprints back to the room where he had left Soo Lin.

Even in the darkness he spots her instantly. Soo Lin is strewn across one of the tables, her lifeless body stretched out with a small black origami flower placed in her open palm. Her eyes are closed and it might look like she were sleeping if not for the hole in her head and blood pooling around her like a halo.

“John!”

John can hear Sherlock calling and his running footsteps but he can’t take his eyes from the woman he could have saved, if he stayed she might still be alive. Death isn’t new of him but this life in front of him he could have prevented.

“John!” Sherlock is getting closer.

John moves closer and takes Soo Lin’s hand, it’s still warm, and it pulls him into a vision.

_Soo Lin is younger, she is running, and laughing. A boy is chasing her and a couple walks behind them, watching. The colors start to break apart and sounds distort, fading into nothing._

John snaps back and understands he had just seen Soo Lin’s last thought before she had died, he had been privy to a memory of her past before everything had changed for her. “I’m sorry.” He whispers to the darkness.

“John!” Sherlock yells one more time before coming into the room.

The doctor barely turns towards the man when he’s grabbed. He’s manhandled and prodded. “Sherlock!” He protests.

Sherlock doesn’t stop until he’s check John completely. Giving him a hard look the taller man steps back and looks around before finding Soo Lin. His face barely changes upon the discovery but he turns from the scene and pulls out his phone.


	28. Definitely Not Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more John angst and a bit of Sherlock comfort, oh and I don't like Dimmock.

Dimmock arrives soon after and takes over the scene forcing the boys out of the building. The two wait after their statements had been taking and the whole time John can’t get Soo Lin’s face out of her head. She had been so young with only the wish to live but now she was a corpse with no future.

“Stop it.”

It takes John a moment to realize Sherlock is talking to him. “Excuse me?” He asks looking at the man nearby.

Sherlock is leaning against a wall with his fingers steepled under his chin, his thinking pose. “I said ‘stop it’, you feel guilty and it’s ridiculous.” He tells him.

John glares, “Ridiculous? A woman is dead!” He storms.

“Yes,” the taller man says dropping his hands to look at John, “but you are not responsible.”

“I could have saved her.” John argues.

Sherlock glares this time, “Or ended up dead right along with her.” He retorts.

The ex-soldier growls but doesn’t respond but he does look away.

“John,” Sherlock speaks quietly, “You would have been killed as well and we might never have found the murder now with you by my side we’ll find the killer and give Soo Lin Yao the justice she deserves.”

John turns back to the man stunned, he wants to hear more from this side of Sherlock but Dimmock appears and breaks the moment.

“What exactly happened here?” The Detective Inspector asks looking between the two.

“A young girl was gunned down tonight,” John replies, “That’s three murders in three days and you’re supposed to be finding him.”

Sherlock moves to stand closer to Dimmock. “Brian Lukis and Edward Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers, a gang called the Black Lotus operating right here in London.”

“Can you prove that?” The Inspector asks.

An hour later Sherlock has Dimmock in the Bart's morgue with the pathologist Molly Hooper. He gestures to the young woman and she moves forward to open the body bag. Brian Lukis is revealed as is the tattoo of the Black Lotus that had been on Soo Lin’s foot.

Sherlock smiles smugly at the revelation. “Now Van Coon.” He says.

Molly moves over to the other body bag and opens it. Edward Van Coon lays within and he too has the tattoo on his foot.

“Oh!” Sherlock says in shock surprise.

Dimmock glares at his wearily. “So?” He asks.

The Consulting Detective huffs, “So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlor or I’m telling the truth.” He snaps.

“What do you want?” Dimmock asks in defeat.

Sherlock smiles, “I want every book from Lukis’ and Van Coon’s apartment.”

The Detective Inspector looks at him with a mix of suspicion and surprise. “Their books?”


	29. Unraveling

After a little finagling Sherlock secures his request and the boys are back at 221B, John is relaxing in his chair feeling the effects of sleep deprivation.

Sherlock is standing in front of the case wall staring at the growing pictures. “It’s not a criminal organization, it’s a cult. Soo Lin’s brother was corrupted by one of its leaders.”

“Shan,” John said yawning, “General Shan and we’re nowhere near to finding them.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock counters, “Soo Lin gave us most of the missing pieces.” He looks at John expectantly but gets no answer from the exhausted man. He sighs in annoyance, “Why did the killer visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?” He asks.

John takes a moment to come up with the answer. “She works at the museum, an expert on antiquities.” He answers slowly.

“Exactly,” Sherlock says, “Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased off the Black Market. China’s home to thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s revolution.”

John yawns again, “and the Black Lotus is selling them.” He finishes nestling into his chair.

“John, JOHN!” Sherlock’s voice startles John awake.

The doctor jumps at the loud noise and groans when pain twists through him from his shoulder. He is still sitting in his chair and the awkward position was agony on his shoulder.

John sits up and something falls from his lap to the floor. Glancing down he spots a blanket that had been draped over him. Blinking at it he looks at Sherlock who is on the couch with his laptop.

“John!” Sherlock yells again not looking away from the computer screen.

“Oi,” John shouts back, “stop that! I’m right here, no need to scream.”

The other man jumps up and strides over to the doctor. “I’ve been looking at auction sites online and each high selling piece coincides with trips both Van Coon and Lukis made. Each artifact was sold under an anonymous source what if one of the men got greedy while they were in China?” Sherlock says nearly bouncing in excitement.

“That’s why Zhi Zhu’s come.” John finishes rubbing at his shoulder.

Sherlock nods finally looking away from the screen, his eyes are wide and flashing with interest. The man’s face morphs slightly to one of concern. “Are you alright?”

“It’s just my shoulder, sleeping on my chair doesn’t support it right.” John explains, “Give it a day it will be fine.”

Sherlock sets the laptop down on his chair and moves closer to John. “May I?” He asks gesturing to the shoulder.

A little uncertain John nods and watches as the other man moves around behind him. Keeping himself alert to Sherlock’s movements John sense as the other man lifts his hands before they settle on his shoulders. Slowly the violinist’s fingers start applying a generous amount of pressure against the strained muscles.

It takes several long moments for it to click in John’s mind that Sherlock is giving him a massage. The long digits are kneading rhythmically and John feels the knots dissipating, his body goes almost completely limp and he has to fight to keep from moaning.

“I researched a few websites on massage techniques after a case where a masseuse used such techniques to paralyze her victims before murdering them.” Sherlock tells him.

John snorts. “Going to paralyze and kill me?” He teases and groans quietly when Sherlock touches on a sensitive spot.

“I’m not using her technique,” Sherlock protests, “I only learned what I needed to solidify my knowledge. I know basic massage skills, mostly for encouraging muscle relaxation. My fingers are well exercised for this since I’ve been playing the violin from an early age.”

John nods along with the movement of Sherlock’s hands. “That’s brilliant.” He murmurs nearly dozing.

“You who!” Mrs. Hudson calls as she walks into the room. She comes to a halt looking slightly embarrassed, “Not interrupting anything I hope.” She beams.

Sherlock’s hands fall away and John cracks an eye at her. Any other time John would have been protesting and putting as much space between them but at the moment he is relaxed and uncaring.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

Her eyes linger between them a moment longer before she answers, “Are we collecting for charity? There’s men outside with crates of books.”

Shortly afterwards dozens of crates crowd the living room, leaving barely any space. Each crate is labeled either Lukis or Van Coon and there doesn’t to be any semblance of order. John eyes the crates and opens a few of the lids exasperated by the quantity of book they were going to go through. “So the numbers are references...to books?” He questions already knowing the answer.

“To specific pages and specific words on those pages.” Sherlock adds.

John glances over the titles again. “So...fifteen and one; means that…”

“Turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word you read.” The tall man replies.

The doctor sighs heavily preparing for the long days ahead of them. “Okay, right. This shouldn’t take too long.” He tells himself grabbing out a stack of books from a ‘Lukis’ box and another from ‘Van Coon’.

Before either can begin Dimmock walks in with an evidence bag. “Found these at the museum.” He says holding up the bag; it contained the photos of the symbols that they had shown Soo Lin. “Is this your writing?”

John grabs the bag. “We hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us.” He explains setting them on the desk near his piles of books.

Dimmock nods before looking expectantly at Sherlock. “Is there anything else I can do to assist you?” He asks.

Sherlock is already pulling out books and finding pairs. “Some silence right now would be marvelous.” He tells him.

The detective looks a little dejected and glances at John who just smiles wearily and goes back to his books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured that the these two have gone three days without proper sleep, poor John.


	30. A Bit of Light Reading

Hours later or even days John can’t even be sure anymore. Every book seems to be a dead end, there is no promising words coming from any of them. John didn’t even want to know what time it is or what is going on. His brain is on white noise and is having a hard time functioning.

Groaning softly he sits back in his chair and rubs at his eyes. John needs to get some sleep before his shift at the clinic but his alarm is going off on his watch telling him that time has passed.

Somehow John gets himself into the shower and dressed before heading off to work. He makes it through the first few patients without a hitch but with a sudden crash John is decommissioned for the rest of the day.

He wakes up propped up in his chair and his watch is telling him it's the end of his shift. Confused and still exhausted John grabs up his things and leaves the office by passing Sarah with a weak apology before leaving embarrassed.

“I need some air, we’re going out tonight.” Sherlock says as soon as John walks in the door.

John blinks at the man noting the stacks of book that the man seems to have gone through. “What?”

“It’s where two people go out and have fun.” Sherlock replies sarcastically grabbing up another book.

“Ummm...like a date?” John asks uncertainty.

Sherlock waves away those words. “I don’t tend to label things but call it what you like.” He says absentmindedly.

John shakes his head, “No, not the word I will be using thank you.” He tells the man navigating his way through the crates to find his chair which has been shoved up alongside Sherlock’s.

Sighing Sherlock drops the book he had been reading and drops it into the growing stack at his feet. “Here let’s try this.” He says pulling out a paper from his pocket and handing it to John.

The doctor glances over the ad but sensing there was more to it. “The Yellow Dragon Circus?”

“Here in Long for one night only,” Sherlock tells him leaning in close, “It fits, the Tong sent an assassin to England…”

“Dressed as a tightrope walker,” John says in disbelief, “come on Sherlock, behave.”

Sherlock huffs, “We’re looking for a killer that can climb, where else are you going to find that level of dexterity. Exit visas are scarce in China, you’d need a pretty good reason to leave the country.”

“So you want to go to the circus?” John asks not totally convinced.

Sherlock smiles. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout the series the one thing I couldn't figure out was; how in the hell did John keep his job? I mean seriously the man goes day without sleep and it constantly running around. Obviously the show didn't show every aspect of his life but really what job would keep such an unreliable employee? Not that I mind, I'm just curious.


	31. We’re Going to the Circus

John finds that it’s not so much as a circus but as performance art, there is a small audience that has gathered and there aren’t any chairs. The show started off with a man escaping from being bound by chains to a target as a pressure sensitive crossbow is aimed at him. It is captivating and John doesn’t notice Sherlock has slipped away until the second acted began.

There aren’t many heads to look over but even then John can’t see the raven curls, he worries hoping the man isn’t getting into any kind of trouble but he knows that it being Sherlock that is most likely the case.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the trouble when Sherlock comes crashing through the curtains behind the stage with a masked man attacking him. John jumps into action and surges forward only to be intercepted by one of the other performers.

The doctor barely avoids a kick to the head but luckily his reflexes react just in time. John watches his attacker movements and his senses itch just before a left arm swings out with a knife. The ex-soldier blocks the arm and twists the hand dislodging the blade, the right arm comes around knocking into John’s shoulders.

The pain is minute and easily ignored.

John knees the other man in the stomach and throwing him to the ground. Another good hit to the head puts the man out of commission. Double checking one more time that the man would stay down John turns to see Sherlock’s assailant towering over the downed consulting detective.

The army captain sprints forward throwing his weight into the man sending them both to the ground. John hears and crunch and the man goes still. Without waiting the doctor moves over to Sherlock who's slowly rising into a sitting position.

“Sherlock.” John says kneeling next to the man and quickly scanning him for serious injury.

Sherlock bats the probing hands away. “I’m fine.”

The doctor ignores that and checks the man’s pupils, Sherlock remains still in the examination but glares through it. It only takes John a moment to determine that the man is fine but he keeps looking just to reassure himself that it’s true.

“Are you perfectly finished?” Sherlock grumbles when the doctor finally allows him to stand.

John looks around to see everyone had cleared out and they were the only two. “Well that’s just what we need.” He mutters hearing the approaching sirens.

Dimmock shows up within minutes and his men skewer the place but the two already know that there isn’t anything to find.

“Why am I not surprised to find you two?” The Detective Inspector asks coming towards them. “I get several calls about a dispute and here you are.”

“Lukis and Van Coon were part of smuggling operation. Now one of them stole something when they were in China and now their dead.” John tells him quickly.

“These circus performers were gang members of the Tong sent here to get it back.” Sherlock adds.

Dimmock looks between them with slight confusion. “Get what back?” He asks.

John and Sherlock look at each other and back at the D.I. though Sherlock looks away in frustration while John answers. “We don’t know.”

Dimmock looks taken aback for a second. “You don’t know.” He looks expectantly at Sherlock who is still refusing to look at him. “Mr. Holmes…” Still the tall man keeps his eyes focused angrily on something else.

The Detective glares. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Lestrade seems to think your advice is worth something. Now please tell me you have something to show for it or just a massive amount of information with no solid evidence.” He gets nothing for them and when they say nothing he sighs heavily and leaves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like Dimmock, jerk!


	32. Treasure?

After catching a cab they sit in silence and the ride seems to drag on before they finally reach Baker Street. As usual Sherlock doesn’t wait, he’s out of the car and into the flat, leaving John to pay.

Walking up the stairs John spots Sherlock in the living room rummaging through the various photos. The man sighs and moves into the kitchen after removing his jacket. He goes through the silent steps of making tea, hearing nothing from the other room.

With the tea done John makes up two cups and brings them to the living room.

Sherlock is still perched over the photos, he’s hands are a blur as he moves through them barely glancing at the content.

John sets a cup by the man and is about to move away when something catches his eyes. Looking closer he sees the photo they had shown Soo Lin seems different, he hadn’t really looked closely at it after Dimmock brought it over but now he could definitely see something. Picking the picture up he pulled it from the evidence bag to get a clearer look.

The familiar symbols stared back at him but above them Soo Lin had begun to write.

“Nine, mil,” John read quietly, “Nine, mil?”

Sherlock didn’t seem to be listening.

“Sherlock, look at this.” The doctor says pulling lightly on the other man.

Sherlock stops moving to look. “What?”

“Dimmock brought this the other day from the museum crime scene,” John explains, “Soo Lin stated to translate the code for us and I didn’t notice.”

Sherlock grabs the photo and his eyes fly over it. “Nine, mil? Nine million? Nine million quid for what?” He questions to no one. The man shoots to his feet and is across the room quickly pulling on his coat. “We need to know the end of this sentence.” He says hurrying for the stairs.

John follows. “Where are you going?” He calls but the slam of the downstairs door doesn't answer his question. Grumbling under his breath John moves back into the flat and takes a swig from his tea.

He waits for about ten before getting fed up and orders some takeaway. If Sherlock isn’t around why can’t John enjoy a quiet meal at home and maybe a decent amount of sleep?

Not five minutes later the doorbell is ringing surprising the doctor.

“Well that was fast,” John says upon answering the door, “How much?”

“Do you have it?” The man asks his face covered by a hoodie.

John process the words for a moment. “What?”

“The treasure,” The man snaps, “Do you have it?”

John doesn’t understand and he says so; “I don’t understand.” He doesn't have time to react before the man hits him in the head with something very hard knocking John into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I gave John more of a voice in my fic compared to the episode, I mean he's a smart guy and he has a voice so why not let him use it.


	33. Not Sherlock Holmes

John hears voice before he’s truly conscious though they aren’t using words, only mumbling. His head is throbbing and something is sticky on his head. Trying to move his arms John finds them bound behind him. Managing to crack his eyes open he winces with the bright light pointed at his face.

“A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket.” A woman speaks.

Prepared for the light John tries opening his eyes again. The light is slight intense but he keeps them open focusing on a silhouette coming towards him.

“Ancient Chinese proverb, Mt. Holmes.” The woman finishes coming to halt close by just as the light is turned off.

“I...I’m not Sherlock Holmes.” John says slowly opening his eyes further.

The woman in front of him is small, Chinese, and very intimidating but John keeps himself collected. He looks around; the room looks to be an old sewer tunnel, several fires are burning around him, and a large object with a cloth covering it.

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” The woman says smiling as she moves in close to pull John’s wallet from his pocket. Carefully she looks through it, “A cheque for five thousand pounds made out to the name Sherlock Holmes.” The woman eyes him triumphantly.

“He gave that to me to look after.” John tells her weakly.

She gives him a scolding look and dives back into the wallet. It takes her a few seconds before pulling something else from the wallet. “Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes.”

John sees his chances nearly extinguished. “Suppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you to that is just a coincidence.” He says.

The woman’s hard stare tells him all he needs to know.

“Yeah thought not.” He whispers as a small part of him hopes that Sherlock will appear.

“I am Shan,” She says, “Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?” As Shan speaks she pulls out a small pistol and aims it at John’s head. When she’s done speaking she cocks the pistol.

John closes his eyes thinking he’s about to end up like Van Coon and Lukis.

There’s a click followed by silence.

John waits a moment more before opening his eyes.

Shan grins at him before lowering the gun, “It tells you they’re not really trying.” She finishes.

John breathes out heavily willing his fear down.

Shan chuckles quietly as she pulls out a clip from her pocket and loads it into the gun before pointing it at John again. “Not blank bullets now.” She lets him know.

John nods his understanding as his hope dwindles a little more.

“If we wanted to kill you Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive,” Shan says, “now do you have it?”

“Do I have what?” The doctor asks.

“The Treasure, “Shan snaps, “The hairpin, the Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We had a buyer in the West, then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it to London, and you Mr. Holmes have been searching.”

John shakes his head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He protests.

“I would prefer to make certain,” Shan says moving over to cloth and pulling it. The crossbow from the show earlier is beneath it and pointing at John. “Everything in the West has its price; and the price for your life...information.”

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes, you have to believe me!” John yells, “Please, I haven’t found whatever you are looking for.”

“I need a volunteer from the audience!” Shan calls dramatically spinning around before facing John again. “Ah thank you sir, you’ll do very nicely.” She says with a very wicked smile. Pulling a knife she reaches up towards the bag hanging above the crossbow and stabs it to let the sand out.

John stares for a moment as the weight starts to slowly move towards the trigger. “Please.” He calls struggling but the ropes holding him are too tight.

“Ladies and gentlemen from the moonlit shores of NW! we present for your pleasure Mr. Sherlock Holmes in a death-defying act.” Shan says loudly walking closer to John and placing an origami flower on his knee.

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes!” He screams.

Shan leans in close. “I don’t believe you.” She hisses at him.

John’s brain is whirling trying in vain to think up something to stall the woman, when something in the back of his mind a voice is screaming his name and it’s getting louder.

“You should, you know.” Sherlock’s voice echoes off the walls around them, “Sherlock Holmes is nothing like him.”

John nearly cries out with relief but manages to keep it in.

Shan spins towards the voice and raises her gun. The other with her look around for the speaker but the tunnels to dark to make out much. One of the men ventures out into the darkness but doesn’t get far when he cries out and hits the floor.

“How would you describe me, John?” Sherlock asks sounding almost gleeful, “Resourceful, dynamic, enigmatic?”

“Late.” John replies loud enough for the others to hear. He nearly smiles when he hears a low chuckle. The voice in the back of his head isn’t screaming his name anymore but there is still something lingering, a sense of relief?

Shan cocks her gun aiming where she had last heard Sherlock’s voice.

“That’s a semi-automatic, if you fire it, the bullet will travel over thousand meters per second.” Sherlock says his voice coming from a completely different direction and another of Shan’s men hurries towards it.

Shan turns the gun in that direction. “Well?” She asks.

There’s a cry and the other man collapses. “The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters,” Sherlock spews quickly, “If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone, might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.”

With though words Shan seems to falter and Sherlock takes that moment to run out of the darkness to kick over one of the fires before moving back into the thickening shadow.

John looks around as best he can, searching for Sherlock in the darkness. Suddenly fingers are pulling at his ties and the doctor does everything to keep still so as to not alert Shan of the change.

As suddenly as Sherlock is there the next he is gone, long finger scrambled against John’s for a moment before he’s pulled away.

“Sherlock!” John calls looking over his shoulders, only getting a glimpse of the man and another from someone attacking him. Worrying over his friend John looks back at the crossbow and realizes he’s almost out of time.

Using his weight John starts rocking his chair from side of side but it’s heavy and kind of hard to do. With his eyes fixed on the weight that is nearly on the trigger, John can only listen to the struggle going on behind him. A few times fingers would have an attempt at his ties but they are always pulled away.

With one last shove John hears the crossbow fire as he falls to his side. The arrow barely misses him but there’s a cry behind him and something heavy falls to the floor.

“Sherlock!” John cries struggling but he’s ties much too tight and can’t move enough to look for the other man. “Sherlock!” He yells wishing he had some limb free then at least he might be able to escape.

“John,” Sherlock croaks from behind him, “John, are you alright?” He asks while untying John from the chair.

The moment the doctor is free he’s on his knees beside Sherlock and looking over the man. Sherlock fights to get a hold of John’s hands but he manages to slip out of Sherlock’s grasp. It takes several minutes for the taller man to subdue John’s hands. They sit still for a moment, staring at each other, and breathing heavily.

“Are...are you hurt?” Sherlock breathes his gaze never wavering.

John manages to shake his head. “You?” He asks. John’s heart is beating in his ears but he can faintly hear Sherlock’s beating right along with it.

Sherlock shakes his head. “I ducked just before the arrow fired,” He says glancing at the body behind them, “It is indeed lucky to have hit someone other than ourselves.”

“Lucky?” John laughs, “You didn’t think you believed in that.” He feels a little hysterical and is amazed that he’s able to keep it under control.

“I don’t,” Sherlock answers, “But right now I’m having difficulty explaining it correctly.” He chuckles.

John looks at the man and can’t help but laugh harder until the two are laughing. It took some minutes for the two to control themselves. Sherlock’s smile lingers on his face and John clears his throat.

“Best call for backup now?” He asks getting another laugh from the other man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screechES* THE FEELS!!!


	34. Don’t Erase It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, last chapter. It's been a long few months and I can truly say that I'm happy how well this came out. It's not my first fic nor is it my longest but it's definitely one of my favorites. I'm a sucker for supernatural, and fluff, and romance, and angst.

It takes the police twenty minutes to arrive, Dimmock takes one look at the two men and sends them home with the promise of having their statements taken later. John relaxes in the cab thinking of nothing but the bed waiting for him.

When the car stops John is the one who leaves Sherlock to pay. Without pausing he's up the stairs and in the flat taking off his shoes and his jacket.

John wants his bed but the adrenaline is still pumping through his veins and sleep will be impossible until he settles so instead John decides to make tea.

As he goes about making tea John listens to Sherlock come in and the rustling as his coat is removed.

The other man is so quiet John misses his approach until he turns and the man is centimeters behind him.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Sherlock's eyes shift to John's temple and with a steady hand gently touches him. "You’re hurt." He states.

John had forgotten about his bleeding forehead. "It's nothing." He assures moving to go back to making tea but Sherlock's hand stops him.

"Let me." Sherlock says tugging on John's arm.

Sighing the doctor follows Sherlock to the bathroom. "I can take care of myself." He protests halfheartedly.

Sherlock shrugs while pushing John on to the toilet seat. The taller man pulls out John's medical kit from under the sink.

John sits straight so Sherlock has easy access but relaxes letting the tension ease out of him slowly.

Sherlock wets a cloth and dabs at John's forehead.

The doctor hisses with a sting pain causing Sherlock to pause. His eyes scanning John carefully before continuing.

Sherlock pulls back for a moment only to return with disinfectant and a band aid.

John chuckles. "Am I going to live doctor?" He asks.

The other man spares a weak smile. "You'll likely make a full recovery." He replies sitting back.

"All thanks to your expertise of course." John jokes.

Sherlock looks almost pained.

John blinks. "Are you alright?"

The man looks uncomfortable and uncertain. "I confess I am unsure," Sherlock answers, "I feel the need to apologize to you."

"Apologize?” John asks a little concerned, “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

The taller man nods kneeling down in front of John. “I put you in danger tonight and without a second thought, I shouldn’t have left you like I did.” Sherlock explains.

The ex-soldier snorts waving the words away. “Sherlock I’m an adrenaline junkie, danger is kind of what I do.” He teases but the pained look on Sherlock deepens. John opens his mouth to reassure the man more when Sherlock leans forward and plants his forehead on John’s chest.

John sits still and blinks down at the man who is currently burying himself in his chest. When things can’t get any more surprising Sherlock does something even more shocking; he wraps his arms around John’s waist, in a hug of sorts. 

John’s first instinct is to freeze but with Sherlock so tightly pressed to him, he’ll feel that so John does the opposite and relaxes even lets his hands rest on Sherlock’s back. The muscles contract under his palm before settling. John waits letting Sherlock press against him. The man is a submarine in the sea of humanity but right now Sherlock has come up for air and he needs John as an anchor. The doctor can only imagine what Sherlock is feeling. The man prided himself on his indifference and despised anything perceived as 'normal' but right now it seemed Sherlock needed comfort like any human being.

Absentmindedly John starts stroking Sherlock’s shoulders and even runs his fingers through the thick curls on his head. The man shivers against him but doesn't move away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I put you in danger and it wasn't until you had the potential of dying that I realized what that exactly meant."

John didn't speak he wants Sherlock to finish. He keeps his hands moving and listens intently.

Sherlock inhales shakily. "I am unused to expressing myself, I articulate but never personalize. Tonight was the first time in my adult life that I felt..." his voice falters and he seems unable to find the words.

John waits letting him struggle through it.

"You are the first person who had accepted me completely, even things most found fault with, and you never expected me to change.  You trusted me with everything and I feel almost unworthy." Sherlock voice rumbles on just above a whisper so John can hear.

"John you surprise me, intrigue me, and best of all you being in my life completes me."

John's mouth falls open but he quickly closes it forcing himself to listen.

"I've never relied on another person before but I find that I can't work without you nearby," Sherlock finally looks up at John and there is fear as well as longing staring back at him, "I tried to keep my feelings contained but tonight when I thought I might lose you...I came to realize that I didn't want to live my life alone anymore."

Sherlock's words stop almost abruptly as he fixes his gaze on John's. Waiting.

And waiting.

So many things are whirling through John's mind but mostly the idea of what exactly Sherlock wanted. A friend? Lover? Boyfriend? The notion didn't appall John, he knew he wasn't exactly straight and his sister was most definitely not straight, so it wasn't off putting. Sherlock looks so vulnerable that any words could shatter him, John literally held the man in his hands at the moment but he needed to know a few things.

"Sherlock," John croaks, clearing his throat before trying again, "Sherlock, what exactly are you asking?"

The taller man relaxes slightly when an outright rejection doesn't come. "Nothing, I'm not asking for anything. We are friends and I am confiding in you what I am feeling." Sherlock answers.

John blinks at Sherlock, he had seen the man use his wit and looks to get people to do things for him so for him to want nothing in return was reassuring?

"I don’t really understand my feelings but whenever you are in the room or praising some obvious deduction I feel happy, though happy isn't exactly the feeling",” Sherlock thinks for a moment, “John?” He looks over for help.

John smiles softly. “Describe to me what you feel.”

Sherlock blinks before his face narrows in concentration. He’s silent for a few minutes his eyes flickering back and forth indicating he is in his mind palace. After a stretch of time Sherlock eyes focus back on John.

“I’ve mesmerized the sound of your steps, I know how you’re feeling by your walk. I find myself intrigued by the routines you’ve created around me, none of that normalcy bores me. You are the exception, you are my exception.” His words are slow.

John grabs Sherlock’s hands and strokes over the skin. He never imagined Sherlock ever feeling this way especially making it so thoroughly clear at their first meeting. They had become friends quickly and John can't see a future without Sherlock in his life but does he have similar feelings for the man?

The doctor looks at Sherlock, really looks. John did indeed find him attractive but looks weren't everything. Sherlock can be annoying, cruel, nearly mechanical, and insulting but when it mattered he did everything within his power to do the right thing. Sherlock says it's only the Work he's interested in but John knows that's not true. Even within the short amount they had known each other John had noticed Sherlock going out of his way to include the doctor. John wants to think more but a pressure on his mouth distracts him.

During the long silence Sherlock had moved forward further and is now kissing John.

The seconds draw out and John is frozen. His eyes are wide and staring, he had never been this close to the other man and he can see freckles that weren’t noticeable before. John had never been kissed by a man before and it didn't really feel all that different from kissing a woman, except maybe for the slight stubble. Feelings are battering John’s insides; confusion, fear, uncertainty, but mostly excitement and unfathomable happiness.

It’s new this almost overwhelming wave of emotion, he had felt tidbits of this whenever Sherlock’s focus was completely on him. It’s fascinating the roaring that is burning through John as he stares at the face so close to his, he’s so focused his stillness is mistaken for rejection. 

Sherlock pulls away swiftly, “Forgive me that was...um...very inappropriate.” He stammers looking at some point beyond John’s head.

The doctor blinks and feels the confusion heighten, what about his reaction told the other man he wasn’t enjoy it? But then again this is Sherlock and his emotions.

Sherlock stands, easily towering over John. “I’ll just be deleting this from my palace for your convenience.” He gives the other man a long look before turning.

Sherlock starts to walk away and John feels panic building inside of him. Before the man can get too far John is grabbing his sleeve.

“Don’t.” The smaller man manages. Everything is roaring within him but he can’t get the words out. John only wants Sherlock to understand but the words have somehow left him. He stares up at the back of Sherlock’s head willing his words into the other man’s mind.

There’s something faint, growing louder with every passing second. As it becomes clearer, words can be heard; _“Don’t what?”_ These two quiet words on repeat.

John tightens his grip on Sherlock’s coat, “Don’t delete it.” He says softly.

Sherlock’s figure stiffens and he’s still, even his thoughts are quiet.

John listens and Sherlock’s mind becomes clearer, it’s mostly subtle emotions but the strongest one is suspicion. The sensation from the emotion vibrates throughout John’s body and he digs deeper to feel everything the other man is feeling.

Curiosity gives way in Sherlock’s mind, _“Why?”_ He asks his voice barely a whisper. His back is still towards John.

John takes is a deep breath, every instinct is screaming at him to retreat knowing Sherlock’s usual response to things involving emotions.  “Because I don’t want you to forget.” John manages feeling Sherlock’s disbelief spike.

The taller man finally turns his eyes locking on to John’s instantly. Those lovely luminous eyes that open the world to him, that catch the faintest traces. His gaze is staring and wide with a look John had never seen. Without needing to John can hear Sherlock’s mind whirling, the screaming why surrounded by hope and fear.

John stands pulling on Sherlock to draw him closer. "I don't want you to forget," he repeats, "you are the most infuriating, annoying, selfish, arrogant bastard I have ever met."

Sherlock stills and his face contorts with pain but he doesn't move away.

"But," the doctor says smiling, "you are also the most passionate, interesting, intelligent, brave, and brilliant person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

The taller man stares as he absorbs the words.

John steps closer, pressing himself against the other man. Slowly he lifts up bringing up to Sherlock's height and slides his hands through the unruly curls. Sherlock's eyes focus on the doctor as John brushes his lips along the other man's jaw. "I don't want you to forget ever." John breaths overt Sherlock's lips before kissing him.

John nearly explodes, the first kiss he had been unprepared, now it's indescribable. He feels weightless like after a vision but he's lucid for every moment.

Sherlock is like a floodgate and everything is pouring out. His emotions are firing through the connection and being amplified. The want and longing from the other man echoes from months.

John breaks away with surprises. Months! Sherlock had felt this way for months and there hadn't been a hint.

"I was subtle." The tall man says.

John can't get over how Sherlock just knows what he's thinking. "I never noticed." He confesses.

Sherlock doesn’t look surprised. "Well you are oblivious to somethings and I am able to contain my emotions very effectively." He tells him with a smile.

John chuckles giving the man a brief kiss and goes to pull away but Sherlock keeps him still and deepens the kiss

Their lips slowly move from gentle to nearly desperate. John wraps around Sherlock as much as he can sending himself into a vision.

_He can smell chlorine, around him is an empty room with a huge pool. But he's not focused on that right now, he's got to find something. No, not something, someone. Someone very important, someone he’s worried about._

_The scene flashes to a pink phone emanating a beeping noise._

_It changes again to show a TV showing an anchorwoman in the middle of a story; “Early this morning Baker Street residences’ woke to tragedy when a massive explosion destroyed and damaged several buildings…” as she spoke Speedy’s shop with a shattered window and caution tape appeared._

_The image fades into darkness. Everything is silent, only the sound of labored breathing can be heard. There is someone in the room and all that can be felt from the person is fear._

_"He will come you know." A voice states from the gloom. "He will come for his pet but that is all you are to him. Nothing more."_

_The person's fear spikes with muffled anger and confusion._

_"You think you're special?" The voice laughs, "you are ordinary, an ant, he may act interested but how long do think that will continue? Months? Years? How long do you think he'll tolerate your normal human life before he leaves?"_

_The scene blurs and the pool is back. The water is lapping softly against the sides and the lights are shimmering beautifully off the surface. It goes unnoticed._

_John can see the back of Sherlock's head but feel everything he's feeling. Something is happening and Sherlock has to find him. He has to get him safety, no matter what, whoever it is._

_"I knew you would come." A familiar voice says._

_"You asked me here." Sherlock's deep baritone answers. His head glances around, searching for someone._

_John emerges from one of the changing rooms wearing a thick coat. "And you had to play the game." He adds staring hard at the other man._

_Sherlock feels relief, confusion, surprise, and a whole mass of other emotions as he stares with disbelief._

_"Funny this," John speaks softly, "how have we come to where we began?"_

Instantly John opens his eyes and the vision is gone. The familiar ceiling of 221b greets him as he stares at it. 

The vision left him numb and disembodied, it was a massive amount of confusion that wouldn't have easy answers. Letting his body regain some feeling John tries to think back to the vision but immediately regrets it. Everything about the scenes he had seen where wrong. Sherlock had been worried and looking for someone, it is safe to assume that person was John. But someone who looked exactly like him came out at the end but definitely didn't look to be in danger.

Then that news story, an explosion at Baker Street. The story didn't give much information although nothing from the vision did. Like who was the person in the dark, frightened and listening to hateful words. Also who was the person speaking, what part did he play in the future? John can't piece much of it together, Sherlock may have enhanced his abilities but did little to make his deductions better. Obviously sometime soon someone is going to abduct John...Wait!

John sits up with wide eyes in disbelief.

"John?" Sherlock's voice asks.

Looking over the doctor spots Sherlock sitting next to him on the bed. It ranges him a second to realize he's in a room he's never seen, Sherlock's room.

"What happened?" John asks. He remembered kissing Sherlock before the vision hit him.

The taller man leans in and looks John over slowly but keeping his distance. "You collapsed," Sherlock says, "but this time it was different, your eyes turned white and you started seizing.” The look on Sherlock’s face shows that the experience had terrified him. “I tried to wake you up but nothing helped. I was able to get you to my room but I couldn’t move you any further.”

The doctor nods, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Sherlock glares for a moment looking about to argue before his face relaxes. “I didn’t understand what was going on,” He admits, “What exactly did happen, did I do something?” He asks.

John shrugs. “In part I think you may have triggered something but this is how I am, it’s no one’s fault. I’ve never had a vision this intense. I can’t even process what I saw properly, it was so strange.”

Sherlock bites his lip still keeping himself back and looking down at his hands as if not knowing what to do with them.

John smiles weakly sensing the man wanted something and didn’t know how to put the request into words. “Come here.” He says opening his arms towards Sherlock.

Sherlock stares for a moment before taken on the invitation. As he moves he seems uncertain how to arrange himself. John makes sure not to laugh until he placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder stopping him. “Here, let me.” He says guiding the other man’s hands and maneuvering him into a comfortable position for both parties. Sherlock is tucked in against John’s chest, his nose pressed to John’s neck, and the doctor’s arms wrapped around his lithe frame. Sherlock became pudding, melting into the other man, and wrapping his arms around John’s midsection.

“Comfortable?” John chuckles.

Sherlock mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles closer.

John smiles against the top of Sherlock’s head and kisses him lightly. “I’m sorry I scared you,” John whispers against his head, “I was scared too, in my vision I saw you, I felt what you felt. You were looking for me, you were looking for me at a pool.”

Sherlock says something that goes unheard.

“Hmm?” John asks glancing down at the man.

He shifts his head, “What kind of pool?”

“A large one,” The doctor answers, “one for competitions.”

Sherlock nods dropping his face back down.

“After that I saw a newscast talking about an explosion around here, it wasn’t specific.” John says knowing that Sherlock would want to know that. “And then I was in a dark room, I couldn’t see anything. There was someone else in the room and they were afraid, I don’t know who they are but I can sense their fear.”

“Whoever it is they aren’t alone, there’s a man in the room with them and he’s speaking. He’s telling the other person in the room that they’re not going to be saved, that they’re not special just ordinary.”

“Finally my vision comes back to you at the pool with you still searching for me, but…” John doesn’t know how exactly to describe the next part.

Sherlock lifts his head to look at John, expectantly. “What?”

The doctor is quiet for a moment before focusing fully on Sherlock. “I dreamt of my future.”

Sherlock sits up with wide eyes. “That’s impossible.” He murmurs.

"I thought so before but it seems with you anything is possible now." John agrees. The taller man hums quietly before burying himself back into John.

"This dream scares me," John sighs pressing his face into Sherlock's hair, "it doesn't make sense and I don't have your deduction skills to understand it any better." It isn't the first time he's wished for Sherlock's ability but it is definitely the first time he's said it out loud.

Sherlock pulls back once again, “Whatever its meaning we will deal with it as it comes, even you can’t know everything about the future.” He says.

John snorts humorlessly. “That’s painfully obvious but this worries me, Sherlock. We should be a little more cautious.” He argues.

“We will,” Sherlock assures, “But right now there is no case, boring as it is, we are safe. We have plenty of time to worry and stress later.”

“But by then it might be too late.” John protests.

Sherlock sighs. “Yes, that is certainly a possibility but no more than any other threat that we will face in the future.” He sound so logical that John can’t continue arguing.

“Fine,” He reluctantly agrees, “We’ll do it your way but I’m still going to worry about it.” John adds.

The other man smiles. “I would expect nothing less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I love each and everyone of you. Comment, give a kudo, bookmark, message me, or do nothing I just hope you like it. This is only the first part and I will be adding a bonus chapter, maybe with some smut. The second part will will hopefully be up in the next few months until then, bye bye.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has been manhandled so many times and still feeling like it's needs a little bit more work.


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